


The Rain That Brings the Avalanche

by Out-of-Character217 (jacksgirl217)



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 146,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5225819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksgirl217/pseuds/Out-of-Character217
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the kingdom of Midgar, king Shinra rules with an iron fist. A lifetime of campaigning has brought him a legacy of both blood and fear, and only one nation has yet to fall to his mighty armies: Balamb, and The Gaians of the North. Now Shinra has captured himself a prisoner and one single Gaian is all that stands between the king and total domination. But the loyalty of his bastard son, Cloud Strife, is failing and the young captain soon learns that not all he has been told of the barbarian race is entirely true. Their magic is strong, and Midgar is about to be plunged into a war that could last for the ages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by and dedicated to, Thequalityrunaway; my friend and partner in crime.

The carcass of the dead lion was thrown down onto the stone floor of the audience chamber, its heavy, meaty weight thudding against the flagstones in clouds of dust and dirt and the sweating man stood back, his large, barrelled chest heaving with the effort as he pushed back the matted locks of hair from his face and grinned triumphantly up at his king. 

“A gift, your Majesty,” the captain bellowed, his teeth gleaming behind his wide smile and thick beard; the grime on his face shining with his efforts. He stood aside and watched as his men brought forth their second conquest; the struggling man thrashing wildly as he spat and snarled at his captors, his evil foreign tongue growling curses as he was dragged to kneel before the dead animal; his twisted face becoming still and harrowed as his eyes caught sight of the pitiful beast. “May I present to your Grace, a Gaian, so called Guardian of the Lifestream,” the captain’s lip curled at the name, his smug satisfaction and obvious disgust evident as he sneered. 

“You’ve done it?” the king remarked almost breathless with disbelief. “You’ve caught one alive?”

“We have, Your Grace,” captain Bannock replied, a solemn sort of pride filling his words as he bowed his head subtly. “Men from The First caught him near the borders of Nibelheim, hunting in the forests. He was alone. Only his Paramour was with him,” Bannock nodded his head to the carcass, a look of revulsion and hate rising on his features as he assessed the unnatural beast.

The king sat forward, an eager glint in his eye as he stared down from his dais, almost as if to confirm for himself his captain’s words. His gaze rested on the Gaian, the young man’s features wholly without colour or form as he stared glassy eyed at his Familiar, no doubt feeling the effects of being severed from it so brutally. The king smiled, the gesture slicking across his lips like oil across water and flipping back the long sleeves of his tunic to reveal his bony, cantankerous hands he stood and descended the steps. As he reached the bottom the odour of the hunting party hit him and he wrinkled his nose slightly, his watery blue eyes never leaving the form of the Gaian kneeling before his throne. 

All the fight had left the prisoner, and he sat as if in a trance, his face ashen with shock and pain. 

King Shinra reached out his hand hooking it underneath the young man’s chin and tilted his face up to him, accessing his features behind hooded and careful eyes. He was barely a man; maybe eighteen seasons and completely wretched. His face was smeared with mud and grime and the remnants of his sinful religious markings. His dark hair was wild and ragged, matted in locks around his shoulders and entangled with beads and bone trinkets, and now that he was staring into the depths of them, his storming grey eyes held the sharpest edge of winter’s chill, still not doused by the painful separation from his powers. 

“This?” Shinra intoned with an insolent brow raised over one old and wrinkled eye, “This is a Guardian; this is what we have so long been afraid of?” he let the boy rip his face from his grip uncaring about his display of disobedience: “Pathetic,” he muttered. 

Turning to the dead animal he glanced over its filthy hide, once gleaming, and sniffed at the putrid stench. Its death was already befouling the air and with a piercing glance to Bannock he pointed at the creature. 

“Are you sure it’s dead, no unholy magic can bring it back; he’s no canny spell to resurrect it while we sleep?”

Bannock’s gaze slid to his prisoner, only really considering the possibility for a moment. 

“No, your Grace. The creature is truly dead. If the Gaian had magic to use, he’d have cast it already. He’s as useless as a maid.” 

The king turned back to the boy and sneered, his rueful joy gleaming from his old and sagging face and with a prideful bellow he laughed, the sound short and thundering in the stone chamber. 

“You hear that, boy?” he barked, his hollow cheeks shivering with his delight. “You thought yourself greater than me but look how low you’ve been brought. Your people are nothing. Take away your witchcraft and your devils and you’re nothing. Impotent! Scarcely even a man and they dare to send you to me?” spittle had begun to gather at the corner of Shinra’s waxy lips, his vehemence turning his liver spotted skin mottled with purple rage. “I will make an example of you!” he spoke the words carefully, pointedly and with quiet promise.

The prisoner turned his head, his once glazed eyes filling with recognition and rage and with a snarl he spat against the hem of the king’s robes. His words were foreign and strange, the sound of them melodic and dark and Shinra sneered at him. Amused disgusted flittered across the king’s features as he stared down at his captive and with lightning speed that belied his fragile frame Shinra backhanded the youth across the face sending him tumbling to the flagstones to lie in a heap, mimicking the boneless mass of his revolting Familiar. 

“Take him to The Bowels to await his punishment,” the king said calmly, wiping his hand on his long sleeve. He turned his back on the pathetic sounds of the boy groaning as he tried to right himself only to be stopped in his track as Bannock called out.

“And what of the beast, my Liege?” 

Shinra looked back over his shoulder at the putrid mess and curled his lip.

“Burn it.”

The wails of the prisoner could be heard over the storming winds that battered the castle as the great storm ripped the tiles from the mossy roof and guttered the fire in the great hall. 

 

Icy sleet swirled in gritty eddies as the storm danced around the stationary soldiers of Midgar. The moors were barren and open with blistering, billowing clouds and heavy purple skies. Trees were scarce and the landscape was wind-blown and battered, scarred heavily with rock and heather and coarse grass. Snow covered everything in the winter months, only to thaw and reveal its ugly belly when spring broke through. Yet spring was still a long time off and Cloud missed the sun.  
He shivered deeply and hunkered down into his fur lined cloak, pulling his shawl up higher over his mouth and nose. His leather gloves creaked as he gripped the reins of his horse tighter and his toes were already long lost to the cold inside his boots as he squeezed his knees together and coaxed his mount to turn. Sentry was a waste of time in this weather. No one was coming anyway. Not for a training mission. 

Thinking of his tent and a burning fire, Cloud trudged his horse over mossy, snow-frozen ground, carefully picking his way through the pitted rocks until he was safe from the winds in the leeside of the hill, his camp tucked away high up on the plateau that overlooked his father’s kingdom.  
His horse knew the way, taking him through the orderly rows of tents covered in snow until it stopped outside his own; a brightly burning brazier marking the spot as he climbed down stiffly and huffed a sigh of relief. Patting the horse’s neck he handed the reins to his stable boy and hurried inside, flipping back the tent covering and dusting the fur collar of his cloak as he passed. 

“Never could stand the cold, could you?” a light and familiar voice called from further inside. Cloud looked up to find his lieutenant bent over a map, his brows creased in concentration and his own cloak wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders. 

“I’m for warmer suns, Zack. You should know that by now,” Cloud retorted as he made straight for the burning fire in the central brazier. 

“And you from Nibelheim, no less,” his friend teased, standing straight and coming to stop beside him. His frown had disappeared, to be replaced with a warm smile and an affectionate nudge of his shoulder. 

“My mother was from there, I never was. I grew up in the castle,” Cloud reminded him, frowning at the memory of his long dead mother. 

“Still, the winter should be in your blood, just as the king is.”

“Aye, and look what it bought him: a bastard son who can’t stand the cold,” Cloud muttered sullenly. Sentry duty always ruined his mood. 

“Better to be the bastard son of a king than no one’s son at all,” Zack told him as frequently as he could. His words were almost like a mantra now, he said them so often. Cloud had never been too sure. He hardly considered being given captain of The Fifth and the endless patrols a privilege. But he understood the king’s position. He couldn’t have bastards wandering the kingdom, gathering ideas and support and armies. Cloud was kept well enough, but his position in king Shinra’s court had never and would never be forgotten. 

“Hn, and you would know?” Cloud snorted, a raised eyebrow conveying his subtle disbelief. “Your father loves you. You’ve never wanted for affection,” Cloud was in danger of sounding bitter.

“Go back to complaining about the weather, this jealousy doesn’t suit you,” Zack replied playfully, nudging the shorter blond man in the side. Cloud’s frown smoothed out, his friends joviality always a soothing balm for his sometimes overly serious mind.

“When will we break camp?” Zack asked, his hands a little warmer now and he strode back over to inspect the map. Cloud joined him, paying less attention to the topography in front of him; he knew these lands like the back of his hand. 

“As soon as the storm breaks. We’ll head back to the castle and rest a while. No doubt father will want us sent out again as soon as possible but there’s no harm in taking advantage while we can.”

"Maybe your father will send us north; past your mother's homeland and into Balamb?" Zack offered a hopeful gleam in his youthful eyes. Although older than Cloud by nearly a season and already into his twenty fourth winter, he was perpetually a boy; excited by the prospect of war and glory and honour. Cloud had never had the heart to tell him he'd see none of that whilst stationed with him and The Fifth. Though he was sure the man already knew.

"Father likes to keep me closer to home," Cloud reminded him, his own personal disappointments nothing to how he felt for his friend, whose only dream even from being small had been to see glorious battle. Cloud had shared in those dreams for a while, but an already conquered Kingdom and a people long subdued had quashed any such romantic notions. The king's desire to pacify his bastard born had resulted in an all but useless sentry division; a part of the army in name only and Cloud was under no illusions why he'd been given its captaincy.

Cloud knew how he was seen by the court; mocked behind subtle hands, though not in front of the king. But Cloud was well attuned to their snivelling jokes and tawdry underhanded comments. Even as a boy he'd been no stranger to that kind of talk. Only Zack had followed him, risking exclusion and social exile, refusing to leave his side though it meant a career of freezing fingers and watching snow drifts.

The tent flap shifted in the howling winds and a gust of frigid air hit the captain. He looked up to find a messenger had arrived his scarf pulled up high and his helm tucked down low over his brow to protect his face from the winds. 

"I bring a message from The Keep."

"What is it?" Cloud asked as he stepped away from the flames and held out his hand for the soldier to pass over his roll of parchment. Cloud recognised the insignia, the unbroken seal confirming his father's orders.

"The king demands your presence. He has news from the north and the Gaians of Balamb."

Cloud looked up, surprise clear on his milky features as he fixed the messenger with his sharp blue eyes.

"The Gaians? They're stirring?" He asked with a small suppressed shudder.

"I don't know. I bring only the king’s word."

Cloud nodded his thanks and dismissed the soldier, turning back towards the comforting flames of the brazier and the better light and broke through the seal on the parchment. Unravelling it with thick, leather clad fingers he held it close to the heat and read his father's elegant scrawl.

'We have captured one! Bring The Fifth back to Avalanche and report to Bannock at once. The word will spread, and we shall need the might of all of Midgar's armies.'

Cloud let the paper spring closed, his breath fogging in shimmering puffs of condensed air in front of him as he considered his father's message. Was it possible? A Gaian, captured?

"What is it, what does he say?" Zack enquired, troubled by his captain's face. It was a few moments before Cloud answered.

"We're to return to Avalanche. Immediately."

"What about the storm?" Zack enquired, far too used to his old friend’s commands to question the root of them.

"We shall weather through it."

 

The Bowels were dark and freezing, their filth befitting their name as putrid rank air drifted up from the sewers beneath them infesting the cells with rats and disease. The damp chambers were strewn with moulding straw, it's walls wet and dripping with the filth that seemed to ooze from between the very cracks, the mortar itself a fetid sludge that grew moss and slime and pestilence.

The prisoner struggled to breathe through his bloody, clogged up nose, the difficulty almost a blessing as he could all but taste the filth on his tongue. His senses weren't entirely cauterised. He could still feel the earth and the movement of it even through the blackened stones of the castle. He could feel the subtle screams of his magic, now so far out of his reach it ached in his bones. His flesh was numb from it. A cold fire burned his skin and the desolation its absence caused was all consuming. He'd never felt loneliness like it. To feel everything, to sense the earth and its power just beyond his reach and still be so far from it. It was as if he were a shadow, unnoticed and untouched by Gaia, and the rejection was crushing.

He groaned into the flagstones unable to move even to cover his nakedness. He felt the biting metal around his throat and wrists and the aching flesh of his living body, but all of it was inconsequential to the emptiness in his centre where Griever had been. His Guardian’s presence had been ripped out and the prisoner felt the wound much deeper than all of his others.

Griever’s death had been unbearable and the prisoner wondered if a part of him hadn't died too. He could no longer feel his spirit talking to him, his soothing voice a reassurance in his mind. He was utterly alone for the first time in his life and the sensation of nothingness overwhelmed him.

With a shuddering sob that came out as a pained groan, the prisoner mourned as best he could, only allowing himself to fall into the darkness of his guardian-less mind after he'd offered up a prayer for its disconnected and wandering soul.

The castle at Avalanche sat atop a large outcrop in the middle of a desolate plane; buffeted on all sides by winds that chased down the valley, it lay open to the elements and the storms that the mountains to the north could bring down. To the south lay the plateau and the moors of rock and heather, and the desolate sky above that bled grey clouds which billowed in ominous darkness that shrouded the landscape in blankets and blizzards of white. The city below it crowded around the single rocky outcrop, as if children huddled around their mother’s skirts, tucking their heads away from the bitter winds and the silhouette cast a squat and solid shape against the bruised sky.

Standing above the valley looking down, Cloud thought it held a desolate beauty, vast in its scale, wild and untamed, rough-hewn from the landscape and just as likely to bite. Yet Cloud’s heart had always belonged here. He couldn’t fathom its connection, yet he knew his blood was in those stones and he felt an acuity with his homeland that he’d never been able to articulate. 

He watched as The Fifth marched single file down into the valley basin, horses and footmen picking their way down from the high plateau and knew he’d be home by nightfall. He couldn’t hope that his father would be pleased to see him. 

“Freezing to death won’t delay the inevitable,” Zack said as he pulled his horse up beside him, watching their soldiers trudge home. “Your father will want your report and he’ll not take death as an excuse.” He smiled.

“What’s there to report?” Cloud replied sullenly and Zack rolled his eyes. 

“The sooner we get you warm the better. I can’t stand the way the cold makes you miserable.” 

And Cloud had to agree. He nudged his horse into action, turning the mare away from the ridge and followed his men downwards, descending onto the plain and ambled through the gates of Avalanche just as dusk was falling. He made his way straight to The Keep, leaving Zack to see his men to the barracks and jumped down from his mount as he passed into the courtyard. Throwing the stable hand his reins, ducking through the low doorway, he took the steps two at a time following passageways he’d memorised as a boy and marched the corridors until he’d climbed to the south wing and his father’s quarters. There he stopped and raised a hand to knock on the doors of the king’s study and with only a moment’s hesitation he pressed forwards.

“Come,” the familiar baritone of Shinra drifted through the wood and Cloud did as instructed. Stepping into the freezing chamber, he saw the king settled amongst a bundle of furs behind his large desk quill in hand as he bent low over parchment and struggled to see in the dim light. He refused any source of heat save his shawl and furs, too cheap to light the fires and too stubborn to draw the shutters closed. 

“Father, you sent for me,” Cloud announced himself, unsurprised that Shinra refused to look up from his work for a long while. 

“You’re late,” the king replied eventually dipping his quill into the ink pot languidly and returning to his writings without looking at his bastard. 

“I came as quickly as I could,” Cloud tried to reason, knowing it would do no good “I heard there was to be a council.”

“There was. You missed it,” the king replied sharply, head still bent low. 

“We marched through the storm,” Cloud reiterated, flashes of anger beginning to disintegrate his fragile composure “I lost two men and five horses to it.”

“You do yourself no favours, telling me these things,” Shinra replied casually, eventually sitting up and abandoning his quill. He fixed Cloud with those cold, hard eyes that were like glass, his mouth downturned and lined with age and disapproval and Cloud felt his brittle anger harden further. It had taken a week to return home, five days shorter than it had to march out and still his father looked at him like that. 

“What was the council’s decision?”

Shinra considered him for a long time, stretching his reply out and extending his bastard’s discomfort. 

“There’s to be a feast, to honour the brave soldiers who risked their lives to capture The Gaian. There we will unveil him. I want the world to know we have him, do you understand?” Shinra explained, his chilling stare sharpening further “I want the Gaians to know we have him.”

“You plan to go to war?” Cloud asked, hardly surprised yet still unnerved. He’d grown through boyhood hearing tales of the Gaians and their powers. The kingdom of Midgar would have grown further still had it not been for the Guardians from the north.

“We’re always at war,” The king replied, snapping the words in his mouth like brittle twigs “I want to draw them out!” he said, emphasising the word as if extracting blood from a wound. 

Cloud nodded his head subtly, indicating his understanding and couldn’t help but feel the uncomfortable stings of foreboding. Despite his misgivings about his childhood dreams, Zack might just get to live his own. 

“What do you need of me?” he asked, gripping hard to the dagger at his side and shifting under the weight of the Longsword strapped to his back. He ached to remove his gear and feel the heat of a fire again.

“You’re to report to Bannock. The Fourth Home Guard will co-ordinate the city defences but you will support The First and Second. Should they require reinforcements, you are to supply them with men. General Sephiroth has been sent to the north borders and will report as soon as he encounters resistance. Until then you and your Fifth are to remain here.” 

Cloud’s anxiety was relieved only a little with the news that he would be residing at Avalanche for the time being, but he was still unnerved by the prospect of joining the general at the borders. For a moment he wondered why captain Angeal and The Third were not being sent to reinforce, but he dared not open his mouth to ask.

“Will that be all, my Lord?” Cloud enquired as he inclined his head, accepting his command. 

“For now. The feast will be held tonight. I expect to see you there,” Shinra fixed him with another pointed stare, holding him fast with his chilling gaze before Cloud turned and left, closing the doors heavily behind him and made his way to his own rooms at last. 

Cloud’s quarters were modest in comparison to other Lord’s. It was no doubt another subtle snub that had not been lost on the blond captain, but he’d considered himself lucky to be acknowledged at all and the smaller size suited him well enough. They were easier to keep warm and decorated with embroidered hangings of his mother’s homeland. High mountains and grassy fields splashed colour onto the grey stone walls of his bower and the fire he’d insisted was always kept burning even when he was away made the room a warm and comforting. 

The captain visibly relaxed as he closed his doors and began to loosen the straps that kept his weapons strapped to his body. Slipping the ties through the leather knots, he let his fur lined cloak slip to the floor and with a weary sigh he pulled his gloves off finger by finger, and rested the garments on his dresser. Crossing the woven rug, he sat himself in his high wing-backed chair and touched the tip of his fingers to the bridge of his nose, exhaling deeply and attempted to rid himself of his troubled thoughts. 

“I had a feeling you’d be home today,” a light female voice spoke from beside the fire. Cloud opened his eyes to see a young woman stood in the servant’s doorway, the wall hanging pulled back to reveal the draughty passageway. She was young, but still older than Cloud and his twenty three seasons and her face was warm and lovely. Her long brunette hair was pulled back and bound in long strips of cotton and she held a basket of freshly pressed linens at her hip. 

“Aerith,” Cloud greeted, unable to keep himself from smiling as he noticed her. She had the same effect on him as fire did: she warmed him and somehow managed to thaw whatever foul mood he could sink himself into. 

“I had the water masons draw you a bath just in case,” she told him as she stepped into the room and let the hanging slide back to cover the servant’s entrance. 

Cloud smiled to himself as he watched her cross behind him and disappear into the bathing room, his heart already lightened by the prospect of being clean and warm again. Silently he blessed his servant and rubbed at his tired eyes.

“Thank you, Aerith,” He replied sincerely, waiting until she’d re-emerged without her basket “Shouldn’t you be seeing to Zack?” He teased, knowing her cheeks would turn pink at the suggestion.

She didn’t disappoint, her warm hearted smile turning bashful and then sour as she realised he’d baited her.

“Lord Fair can see to himself well enough,” she scolded, but only lightly “Besides, who’d take care of you?”

“I don’t take much looking after, Aerith,” Cloud grumbled, straightening himself in his chair as she passed and picked up the items he’d dropped as he’d made himself at home.

“I’d feel a lot better about that if you’d find yourself a lovely wife,” Aerith commented, draping his cloak over her arm and then setting it down on top of his trunk, smoothing the fabric and the furs out reverently. 

“Find me a woman who wants to marry a Strife and I’ll accept,” Cloud replied, knowing deep down in his heart it wasn’t only his illegitimate birth that stopped him from marriage. 

Aerith looked over her shoulder at him sceptically, seeing through his excuse as readily as he did. 

“There are plenty of women, if you’d think to look.”

But Cloud didn’t answer, too caught up in the dancing flames in his hearth to hear her and with a wear sigh of her own Aerith passed him and set down a small glass of wine.

“Don’t let the water turn cold,” she warned him before disappearing behind the hanging once again and made her way down into the inner workings of the castle.


	2. Chapter 2

The prisoner heard the roar of many voices hit the wall of dissonant, fractured magic that surrounded him. The sound cascaded over him like water over rock and although his weakened limbs were bruised and lifeless he began to struggle, fighting back against the terrifying sound and energy that flowed out from behind the large and ornate cast iron doors. He'd never felt anything like it. It was dark and ugly and it beat against his broken senses with merciless intent.

The doors opened and the noise rose to a deafening cry, making the prisoner shrink back against the two men that held him by his arms. He stared into the giant room, the sea of people cheering and screaming in drunken abandon growing louder still as every face seemed to turn and stare at him. He struggled weakly, kicking back as best he could as he was dragged into the giant hall and brought before a large dais. Seated above him was a long table, the king looking down at him with a humoured and hungry expression.

The prisoner snarled and bared his teeth in disgusted as he was forced to his knees, his heart beating wildly as his magic-less blood coursed through his veins. His head was yanked back, exposing his throat to the king in a mock offering and the prisoner saw his enemy raise his hands, palms outwards, supplicating to the crowd and slowly the deafening noise abated to a restless hum.

"Brothers!" the king cried, scanning the large hall with his calculating gaze "I bring before you our enemy!"

The crowd roared to life again, shouts and leers and sickening taunts, the force of it assaulting the prisoner and wracking his exposed body.

"See how he kneels before me. A pitiless animal brought low by our might,” the cheers rose again and then died away, the kings thunderous voice rising above the din like a tide "Here's proof of their fragility; the proud and godless Gaians are weak. We can defeat them!" The hall erupted again, teased and manipulated by the force of their kings words, their emotions stirred and rattled to heady heights and the prisoner felt his chest tighten as if he were suffocating under the weight of it, battered from all sides by the force of their hate.

The king stood, walking slowly around the table and descended the stone steps, careful and purposeful in his every movement and came to stop before the prisoner. He drew a jewelled knife from his belt and held it aloft, as if to show it to the crowd and their clamorous noise drew higher still. With his other hand, Shinra gripped the boy under his chin holding him steady as he smiled down at him, and with a precise movement, he brought his arm down in an arc and slashed the knife across the youth's face; the sound of the blood that sprayed and hit the flagstone floor was lost to the crowd as they bayed at the king for more, unsatisfied with the meagre offering.

The prisoner cried out and pulled away from the king's slackened grip and he tried to struggle free, his fists clenching and clawing at his captors hold only for him to go limp once again, a feeble heap on his knees.

"You are marked," Shinra said his voice now low and hushed and only for the boy's ears "You belong to Midgar. You belong to me." The king stood straight again and handed the knife to his guards nodding subtly to them as he turned his back and ascended the dais once again, and through the haze and pain and blood that washed his vision, the prisoner felt his guards pull on his hair. With the knife poised against his scalp the men began to cut away his matted locks, hacking at them in great pieces as he watched them fall to the floor and soak into his blood, the beads and trinkets ripped from his scalp to join the offerings.

Cloud watched impassively from his seat amongst the soldiers. They howled and clamoured around him but he remained as still as stone watching as his father had cut and humiliated the Gaian. He'd winced in sympathy at the cruel branding, but held his face as emotionless as he could. His eyes raked over the shivering, naked form of the Gaian so obviously powerless and beaten, and felt a strange weakness in his spirit.

All his life he'd been led to believe the Gaians were cruel and wicked and godless. They were spirit shifters and devil dancers, and through it all he'd imagined a far more terrible form than the young boy who’d been forced to his knees at the top of the great hall. The boy was pitiful; nothing more than a child, and Cloud felt the great fear he'd held for the Gaians loosen subtly, his perceptions shifting slightly. With a curious frown he averted his eyes, somehow no longer interested in watching the spectacle.

His troubled gaze caught sight of Aerith through the crowd, her own brows drawn down in helpless concern as she watched transfixed, the serving jug of wine in her hands forgotten.

"You're not enjoying the feast?" Zack asked him, setting his tankard down with a meaty hand.

“He's just a boy," Cloud supplied, hardly needing to explain his displeasure to his friend.

"He's Gaian."

"He barely looks old enough to rut."

"Looks can be deceiving, Cloud. You taught me that lesson well enough," Zack said, stuffing his mouth with bread and gravy. He chewed heartily, glancing up towards the dais to see they had stopped their mutilation and had doused the prisoner in cold water; letting go of his arms to watch as he succumbed to fatigue and fear and had collapsed against the floor. Cloud remained silent, staring down at his half empty plate and suddenly felt no appetite for his food.

"Rufus has been watching you all night," Zack commented, a displeased frown marring his jovial mood as he glared up at the king's table and met the prince's stare with unwavering confidence.

"Let him. What do I care?" Cloud replied, briefly looking up to confirm Zack's words. The king's only legitimate son and heir sat silently and regally next to Shinra, pointedly ignoring the sceptical before him. He was watching Cloud with a closed interest, a half smile that appeared smug tugging at his lips as he stared down at his half-brother amongst the masses. It had never bothered Cloud, but apparently his position amongst the rabble amused his half-brother greatly. Cloud had been relieved more than anything not to have to join his family up there where everyone could watch him, but it seemed to give Rufus a sort of juvenile pleasure.

"The man's a sop," Zack sniffed, clearly unimpressed and went back to filling his belly.

"But a powerful one. You’d do well not to provoke him," Cloud reminded him, catching sight of Aerith as she passed the many rows of drunken men and made for the kitchens. The crowd had grown bored of merely watching the prisoner and his humiliation and had started to throw their leftovers, some of it hitting the youth, smearing his skin and getting caught in what was left of his tangled hair as he tried to lift himself from the ground.

Cloud felt ill. With a grimace he lifted himself from his bench, throwing down his heel of bread and spat the rest out onto the stones.

"I've had enough. Tell Barret we meet on the tilt yard for practice tomorrow at dawn."

"Where are you going?" Zack asked, looking a little offended that he was being left alone.

"To Sanctuary. It's been a month since I gave thanks," Cloud explained, hoping his excuse would be good enough. Zack didn't look like he believed him, but he let his captain go nonetheless.

******

Aerith stormed down the stairs quickly, letting the scents and heat and sounds of the kitchen guide her and as she passed another serving girl on the curling stairwell she stopped her shortly by the arm and hefted the serving jug into her hands with a frown.

"Here, take this up to the hall. I've had enough for one night." 

And without waiting for a reply she headed off again, arriving into the kitchens in a swirl of skirts. She set to the bread table almost immediately, folding and kneading the dough ready for resting and proving by the fire overnight. It was suitable work for her frazzled nerves and she worked her frustration out on the mixture.

"Take it easy, girl. You want the king's bread turning out flat?" Elmyra commented, coming into the kitchens a moment later and placing a weighty sack of oats down on the large wooden table in the centre of the room.

"I couldn't give a pig’s whistle." Aerith replied shortly, stomping down the dough with the heel of her palm.

The kitchens were large and warm, the huge stone fireplace always lit and steaming with broth or water for stewing. Shelves were stacked high on either side of the chimney breast filled with pots and pans and barrels; kegs of water already drawn up from the well in the yard beneath them were neatly arranged under the bread table, and at the back of the large room, at the far end next to the stairs that led down to the vegetable garden and the slaughter yard, stood a cold room for meats, a larder for storing cheese’s and grains and a salting room for curing. 

Elmyra had arranged her domain perfectly and she worked the twelve staff she’d been provided with like a well-oiled cog. Like the provisions that lined her pantry, everyone had their place. 

“A pig’s whistle is what you’ll be getting if you don’t ease up. What’s got up your skirts all of a sudden?” 

Aerith stopped her vicious kneading and breathed out heavily through her nose, letting the tight tension in her shoulders loosen slightly as she thought again of the terrible scene she’d witness. But she shook her head and returned to her work, her pace a little slower and easier now as she simply sighed.

“Nothing… its nothing.”

Elmyra huffed, knowing her serving girl better than that, but kept her peace and shook out the large sack of oats onto the table. The women worked in companionable silence, moving about the kitchen with practiced ease as if they were one and the same passing rolling pins and ladles between them. Only the clattering sound of men barrelling down the stairs from the great hall caused them to look up from their work; Aerith’s hair whipping around her flour dusted features as she stood up from the ovens and wiped her hands on her apron. 

The large iron studded door swung open and bounced back on its hinges as two men struggled through the opening, a limp body hung between them and Elmyra startled, letting out a soft curse as the men stumbled past her and ungraciously let the limp form of the prisoner fall to the floor in a cloud of dust and straw. 

“You needn’t think you’re leaving that here!” the burly woman warned, pointing at the weakly struggling youth. Aerith’s eyes went wide; recognising him instantly she straightened her back and reached out to pick up the poker that rested beside the fire. Subtly she hefted it to her side and waited. 

“King’s orders. He’s to serve down here,” one of the guards replied obviously relieved to be rid of his burden as he looked down at the youth with a curled lip, “Find a use for him.”

“I’ve no place for him. He’ll have to go outside to the stable master,” Elmyra retorted, her own back straightening as she stood her ground.

“Then take it up with the king,” the guard replied already turning to leave and dragging his more than inebriated partner with him. They left without shutting the door and disappeared back to the feast as the brawny woman threw down the porridge splattered spoon in frustration. The prisoner groaned.

Both women started and threw each other wary glances. Drawing back from the softly grunting form and with her heart in her throat, Aerith loosened her grip on the fire poker and bit her lip as she watched the boy’s pathetic attempts to lift himself from the cold floor. Gathering a hold of herself, Aerith frowned, and setting the poker aside, back where she had taken it from, she huffed and squared her shoulders straight. 

“I suppose I’ll see to him then; he looks like he could use a healer.” 

“It’ll take more than the skills your mother taught you to set him right,” Elmyra declared looking down her nose in wary disgust as she picked up her spoon again and watched as Aerith approached him. She stepped back a little, giving the young woman enough room to draw up alongside him and kneel down.

“We’ll see,” Aerith said as she laid a hand on his shoulder, unsurprised when she felt him flinch and pull back, “Will you find him some clothes, El?” she asked reaching out again to pick him up under the arms, unconcerned by his weak and futile struggles.

“Am I to be your serving girl now?” the husky woman asked, clearly offended. 

“Only if you want a naked boy in your kitchens; will you get the clothes or not?” Aerith replied tartly, clearly in no mood. 

Elmyra tutted loudly, but said no more as she disappeared out from the kitchens. Making sure to ease the displeased frown from her face, Aerith turned the prisoner over, vague shock and surprise rippling through her as she found him conscious and staring up at her through ice cold grey eyes. 

“Can you stand?” she asked, only a little afraid. His gaze unnerved her, and for a fleeting second she worried about her own safety. His fearsome scowl was only intensified by the terrible gash across his face, the wound still bleeding as he lay struggling to sit up. “I’ll help you, if I can.” She told him, hoping he somehow understood her. She waited to see if her words registered, and after a few moments of careful thought the boy shook his head and attempted to stand once again, his scowl softening only a little.

He hissed quietly through his teeth as Aerith helped him to his feet, resting most of his weight across her shoulders as she slung his arm around her neck and secured him with her own arm around his waist. Slowly, she guided him through to the curing room; the large slabs of stone used for salting hides of meat were currently unused, and a large barrel of water sat waiting. 

She placed him on the stone benches, mindful that he didn’t slump to the side and fall off as she turned to the wall and pulled down a rough piece of leather. Its underside was a soft waxy texture and purposefully – and with slow and precise movements so as not to scare him – she wetted the leather and approached him. 

She tilted his chin upwards and applied the soft side of the leather to his face, squeezing the excess water out and let the rivulets slide down his grimy, blood soaked features. The boy closed his eyes, his expression neither pleased nor pained, but simply still, and as Aerith worked on gently removing the dirt and gore she began to reveal the youthful skin beneath. It was still horribly bruised, and she had to be careful along his back and arms, but by the time she was done Elmyra had returned. 

The kitchen’s mistress stood in the doorway, hands on hips and spare tunic and leggings over her arm as she watched, and with a shake of her head she threw the garments at Aerith. The young woman caught them and the leather shoes too as Elmyra tutted again.

“This’ll mean trouble.”

Aerith placed her soiled cloth aside and turned her back, handing the boy his new clothes and with a gentle hand she helped him slip his way into the tunic. She didn’t reply and after growing tired of watching the silent pair, the hefty woman left, muttering to herself as she returned to her oats.

“Wait here,” Aerith told the boy as she handed him his leggings “Put these on, I’ll be back in a moment,” and leaving him to his own she disappeared, returning only moments later with a pair of shears, a comb and a small box. 

The boy was fully dressed, and with a wary and startled look, he attempted to back away from the sight of the shears in her hand.

“Relax, I’ll not hurt you,” Aerith tried to reason, lowering the tools a fraction and then setting them aside. The boy’s mistrust was not quelled but he ceased his fidgeting and with a warm smile, Aerith picked up the comb and motioned to his tatty hair “They’ve not left much for me to work with, but I think we can make you look decent,” she commented, reaching for the wild bangs that framed his face. He flinched but she persisted, running the comb through the knots and working them out until his hair lay a little straighter and relatively smooth. “I’ll need to cut it some more,” she tutted softly to herself and reached for the shears again; she slowly brought them up and waited for his permission.

He hesitated, watching her carefully from the corner of his vision, but when she made no move to hurt him he relented and nodded softly. 

Aerith worked quickly, snipping the matted parts out and shaping it close to the back of his neck, leaving only the front to resemble some of the wild and natural beauty she’d seen in him as she’d watched him dragged into the hall. She mourned the loss, but when she was done, she was relieved to see he somehow still resembled that man. She stood back for a moment, admiring her work and the youth’s own face and with a small frown, she put her shears down and picked up the box. 

“My mother taught me healer’s work,” she spoke softly hoping the idle chatter would calm him, “She travelled to many places, learning lots of ways to do it. I went with her, when I was very small, before she died.”

The prisoner watched her carefully as she opened the box and pulled out two small vials, unstopping them and pouring them into the palm of her hand. She mixed the two pastes together with her finger, reaching out towards his face and stopped midway.

“This might sting a little,” she warned, before he felt the cool sensation of her fingertip against the cut between his brows. 

He flinched and hissed, pulling away slightly only to hold himself still and close his eyes against the pain as he let her continue and when she was done she stood back, washing her hands in the vat of cold water. 

“I expect you’ll be hungry,” she said, gathering her things together “Can you walk again?”

The prisoner looked at her with a vague expression of incomprehension, waiting for her to move and with a soft motion of her hand, Aerith beckoned him to stand. He rose on wobbly legs and stumbled slightly and with a soft tut, Aerith reached out, supporting him with her arm around his waist as they slowly made their way back to the warmth of the kitchens. 

She found him a stool to sit on and placed him at the large table, making sure he wouldn’t fall from it as she put her tools back in their proper places and helped herself to the cast iron cauldron over the fireplace. 

“He’s not eating in here!” Elmyra said as she watched the girl ladle his stew into a wooden bowl. Aerith turned wiping the extra drips on her apron as she paced back to the table and set the food down.

“Where do you expect him to eat?” she snapped angrily.

“Outside, with the other animals,” Elmyra’s cheeks were flaring ruby red, her hands coming to rest on her ample waist as she matched Aerith’s glare.  
“He’s just a boy, El. He-”

“He’s a Gaian!” the woman cried, her voice coarse and heated and full of fear and venom, “He’s a godless heathen and I’ll not let his pretty features fool me into forgetting.”

Aerith sighed, her own impatience bubbling quickly to the surface as she slammed the small wooden spoon down next to the bowl.

“Holy help me. You’re as daft as Hojo if you think he can hurt us. Look at him!” she demanded, pointing to him as he sat hunched and swaying on his stool, his hunger clear in his grey eyes as he stared at the steaming bowl of stew; seemingly paying their argument no mind despite the fact they were talking about him. “He could barely hurt a mouse as he is. They took his guardian, El. He’s no more threat to you. Just leave him be.”

Neither woman saw how he flinched at Aerith’s tone, his eyes sliding closed in pain as he slumped further against the table.

“Guardian powers aren’t all the evil magic they have, girlie. Don’t let his babes face fool you. He’s a devil. As soon as he’s done I want him gone. Keep him out of my kitchen, d’you hear me? I’ll not have him here with me I don’t care what the king says.”

Elmyra set her ladle down and with a glare full of spite she eyed the boy one last time and left, slamming the heavy door behind her. 

Aerith turned to the youth; worry etching its way onto her face when she saw him slouched against the table, one arm around his stomach as he braced himself with the other and clearly pained against something as he breathed in and out heavily. 

“Here,” Aerith said softly, pulling up a stool beside him and sat down. She placed a comforting hand against his back and coaxed him into sitting straighter again, dragging the bowl of food across in front of him and handed him the spoon, “Eat this and we’ll find you somewhere to sleep. You look like you could do with some rest.”

Slowly and with difficulty the youth began to eat, every mouthful a great effort despite the fact that he was starving and after eating only half the bowl he stopped, pushing it away with a shaky hand. He was famished, but the food tasted foul on his tongue and brought a sickness to his belly. He moaned quietly and with a pained gasp he worked his throat, swallowing heavily against the bile.

Aerith fetched him some water, placing the cup in his hand and watched him drink slowly, the cool liquid going down much easier and with a thoughtful frown she pushed the bangs out of his face and studied his features. 

“What do they call you, in your homeland?” she asked her tone soft and unobtrusive, “Do you have a name?”

The boy didn’t answer, only concentrated on his laboured breathing and continued to drink.

“It was a lion they killed, wasn’t it? Your guardian, I mean.”

The mention of his spirit caused the boy’s shoulders to tense, some of the strange words filtering through the jumbled mess of his mind; his features pinched together in pained remembrance as he placed the empty cup on the table, bringing his hands up to hide his face. 

“We’ll call you Leon then,” Aerith said, taking the cup and standing. She watched him for a long time, considering his silence and the strange pain he seemed to be in and with a soft tug on his arm she coaxed him to stand again “It’s better than what they’ll call you,” She added, leading him from the kitchens and down past the cold room towards the servant’s cells. 

******

Cloud had only intended to stay at the sanctuary for a short while to fulfil his duty and pay his thanks to the God. But as he knelt there, his knees becoming numb with the cold and the pressure, he felt time slip away; the large statue of Holy looming over him and enveloping him in quiet and comfortable shadow. Sanctuary was quiet this evening, its normal devotees long ago abandoning their posts to join in the evening’s revelries. Even Hojo was missing and Cloud considered the priest’s absence a small blessing. 

The young captain lifted his head, his silent prayers finished a while ago and he gazed up at the stone effigy before him, Holy’s immortal wife, Jenova, on her own knees at Holy’s feet. 

She’d been human, the legends said; chosen by God as His eternal bride and sacrificed to prevent His wrath and the calamity that He’d sent to the world. He’d been so awed with her beauty and her gentle nature that He’d spared mankind, promising to free only the faithful at the point of death to ascend with Him and Jenova to the afterlife. Yet Cloud couldn’t help but feel a cold detachment when he gazed at the deity. There was no fire in his spirit or warmth in his skin when he thought of that promise and as he gave hollow thanks to a meaningless carving he felt the same strange weakness of spirit he’d experienced when he’d looked upon the Gaian. 

It had been like the boy was shattered, as if Cloud was seeing him through broken glass and the fragments had distorted his colours. It stirred in Cloud not the reverent awe he knew he was supposed to feel, but a peculiar curiosity and the feeling troubled him deeply. 

“How strange to find you here, brother,” Cloud heard a familiar voice call out from the shadows behind him. He turned to gaze across the vast empty stone floor and saw the prince in the darkness, half illuminated by the flickering flames of the candles in the alcoves and with a frown he knew Rufus couldn’t see, he turned back to the altar. 

“A coincidence,” he replied, his voice low and toneless as he rose to his feet, still refusing to turn around. He heard the king’s son approach him, his steps slow and his gait uneven as Rufus limped on his lame leg.

“Are there ever such things as coincidences in Holy’s Sanctuary?” The king’s son asked cryptically as he came to stand beside his half-brother. 

Cloud turned to consider him, the sight of Rufus’ one ruined eye and the scar tissue that covered it was always an unsettling thing, yet under the shadow of Holy it unnerved him further. 

“What do you want, brother?” Cloud asked already weary of company. 

“I came to congratulate you. Father has seen fit to trust you with a great responsibility at last. You must be pleased.” Rufus’ smug words barely echoed in the empty place he uttered them so carefully, and with a clenched jaw Cloud bit back the stinging retort that sat on the tip of his tongue. 

“I’m to stay within the city for now. There’s nothing to be please about.” he felt his half-brother smile beside him, the action seeming to shift the very air between them as the prince gave Cloud a side long look from his one good eye. 

“But still, it must be reassuring to know you’ll be of some use, at the very least.”

The thin thread that held his brittle temper in check finally snapped and with a short huff through his nose, Cloud replied.

“More use than a cripple, you mean?” he turned to stare at the prince, daring him to rise to the bait and his anger was only fanned further by the oily smile that spread across his brother’s face: the perfect reflection of king Shinra and their shared paternity. 

“I always could rile you, Strife,” Rufus replied slowly drawing Cloud’s bastard name out with unconcealed pleasure, “A common weakness no doubt inherited from your common mother.”

Cloud felt his cold fingers clench, his knuckles turning white as he strained to keep them by his side and with a stiff swallow he cut his gaze away and turned to leave. If he stayed much longer his control would dissolve completely. 

“The north awaits you, Cloud. I hope it’s as welcoming as they say.” Rufus called after him, his mocking voice only just now echoing off the stone walls as Cloud disappeared through the archway.


	3. Chapter 3

The noise of steel clashing against steel rang out in the early morning chill filling the tilt yard with the busy sound of soldiers practicing battle. A crow sounded off above them from the gargoyles that ran along the turrets, the birds rising high into the morning mists and circled the castle in slow, lazy spirals. Cloud looked up and watched them, unconcerned with the morning’s progress as he stood silently and observed. His sword master, Barret, was marching along the rows of men bellowing out commands as he passed each one, reaching out to pull and yank each soldier back into a more proper formation. 

His sword master was formidable even with his missing right arm. Cloud’s father had considered it a slight to send him to The Fifth; a way of showing how much he valued the giant man’s ten years of loyal service despite the fact he was still one of the deadliest people Cloud had ever known with a sword. A visit to the blacksmiths and a leather brace fitted with an iron cudgel had mended Barret’s missing arm just fine, and Cloud was more than grateful for the man’s secondment.

The young captain knew strength when he saw it, a quality his father had never had.

“We’ve been at this every morning for two weeks. I thought we’d come back to Avalanche to rest?” Zack complained for the third day in a row. 

Cloud lifted his gaze to his friend as he tightened his grip on the pommel of his sword and stared blankly at the taller man.

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about. You’ve hardly lifted a finger since we got back.” he replied, raising an eyebrow and allowing the corner of his mouth to twitch up in amusement at his friend’s offended frown. 

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

“Is that so? Then tell me where you’ve been this morning; you’re late.” Cloud turned back to his men and stared down at them with a considered gaze from the wooden balustrade that surrounded the tilt yard. Zack was quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

“I had to see a lady about a thing.” he replied eventually, his earnest face causing humour to rise in Cloud’s belly. Zack had never suited that look. 

“And how is the lady this morning?” the blond captain asked, that faded amused smile tugging at his lips as he watched his men carefully, Barret’s burly voice rising high into the morning chill that was fogged with flurries of snow.

“Stubborn,” Zack would supply no more and with a small unamused frown he turned to join his captain in his surveillance, “Are we to continue weathering at Avalanche?”

Cloud nodded. “The king wants us as reinforcements. We’re to remain here until General Sephiroth calls for us. Until then, we train.”

“Forgive me for saying, but you don’t seem overly keen on the notion.” Zack commented, unsure if he would be allowed the bold statement. He may have been Cloud’s lieutenant and lifelong friend, but even their relationship had its boundaries. 

Cloud frowned, his gaze turning sharp for a moment as he considered Zack’s words. The north was a wild place; a place his men had never seen or been tested in. His misgivings about Balamb and the Gaians aside, he’d never reveal to his second that he doubted his own competency. 

“I should be keen?” his tone was low and subdued and heavy with his musings. 

“It’s a chance to show your father-”

“My father’s opinion matters little either way.” Cloud cut him off wanting to shift the topic of conversation to something less personal. Zack looked pointedly at his captain, his brow drawn down low and his mouth turned in at the sides. 

“Why work the men so hard then, if their efforts count for nothing?” perhaps he was stepping over the line, but sometimes his captain’s moods got the better of him. He saw Cloud’s jaw tense and he braced himself.

“Just do your duty, Zack. That’s all I want from you.”

The dark haired man stifled a sigh as he watched Cloud turn and follow the railings around the balustrade, his pace even and measured as he made his way back to the barracks. Zack shook his head and was about to join his arms master on the tilt yard when a bellow sounded up from the cobbles below that was separate from the yells of the soldiers. A boy called for Cloud, and Zack turned his head to see if the blond captain had heard as he searched the yard for the source of the call. 

“Captain Strife, you’re needed in the stables. It’s the mare.” a thin and sandy haired youth called, his face turned upwards and strained with concern and blotchy from his quick run. 

“What is it, Sora?” Cloud replied. His own soft voice had barely risen above a yell yet it could still be heard over the cries and the clash of steel amongst the soldiers. 

“She’s sick; can’t more her or nothing. Reeve said to fetch you.”

Cloud nodded and changed his course, making for the steps that led down into the yard and met up with the scrawny boy at the bottom, placing his hand on his shoulder reassuringly as he led them both back through the archway and followed the passageways to the stables. 

*******

The prisoner was hidden amongst the stalls behind a chestnut bay, resting his cheek against her flank and listening to the sounds of her breathing. He laid his hands flat against her sides soaking the heat of her through his palms and struggled to connect himself to that life force that had always been so apparent in his mind. It was quiet and dull now, as if he were watching it through a winter frosted window and the more he tried to reach out for it, the more that barrier solidified. The separation ached deep in his chest and with a pained frown, Leon opened his eyes and pulled away, looking up at the large beast who stood patiently waiting for him to finish whatever it was he was doing. 

The horse looked round at him and blinked her large eyes, snorting softly as she chewed idly on her oats and twitched her lip; flicking her tail in annoyance at the flies that landed on her hind quarters. Leon stared back, softly petting her neck as he tried to control the anxiety welling in his chest. 

He’d never not been able to feel it before. The Lifestream was in everything, and it had connected to him so readily responding to him at will as he’d called upon it with ease. Now it lay beyond him; despondent and dormant to his commands and it caused the young man to pull a shaky breath into himself. Was this what being guardian-less meant? He’d rather they’d taken his eyes. 

He placed his cheek back against the animal’s neck and reached his arms up to try and hug her to him. The chains around his wrists rattled and limited his movements and he settled for an awkward half embrace, turning his face into her soft mane as he squeezed his eyes closed and released a shuddering sigh.

His wrists and ankles ached from his bonds and his body was perpetually cold, unable to gather and sustain any warmth even as he felt the horse’s heat against his skin, and with a clenched jaw he bit back the sob of misery that was lodged in his throat. He stood there for a long time, breathing softly and evenly along-side the animal matching their rhythms and trying with all his might to connect to her; struggling to grasp hold of that thin tendril of energy that would allow him access to her life. When a dull throb began to pulsate against the backs of his eyes and his throat became dry and itchy with the effort, he pulled away again. Letting his hands fall to his sides with a metallic rattle he staggered and lent against the wall, wincing as his bruised back made contact with the coarse stonework.

The horse looked round at him again apathetically and he stared back, his heartache only interrupted at the sounds of a commotion at the far end of the stables by the main doors. 

He was too far away to hear what was being said, but the raised and murmured voices carried to him and he recognised the tension in them. 

With a furrowed brow he pushed off the wall and shuffled to the door, raising a hand he placed it against the horse’s velvety nose in parting before he closed the gate and cautiously made his way down the long row of stalls, making sure to keep well into the side as he approached. He’d learnt quickly that even when silent, his mere presence was enough to invoke the harshest of beatings and he was well aware of his own limitations now. 

“…been like this for a day now… get her to eat or drink… thinkin’ its poison.” a worried and rushed voice spoke quickly. His words were muffled by the stall door stood back on its hinges and the boy’s accent made understanding the few Midgarian words he knew difficult, but as Leon crept closer he heard an older man speak.

“It’s the foraging sickness, no doubt about it. I’ve seen it before, Cloud.”

The prisoner stood at the gate and peered round, his curiosity eradicating his more sensible instinct to hide as his gaze fell upon the large mare collapsed in the hay; her large and swollen sides heaving with the effort of breathing as she foamed at the mouth and panted heavily, her legs twitching with distress as she pawed at the drifts of straw around her. By her side stood a tall, dark haired man, thick forearms folded over his chest as he stared down at the helpless animal and beside him stood a young boy, scraggly and fair haired, who rubbed nervously as his thigh as he watched a third man – blond and slight, yet commanding even in his small stature – crouch low by the mare’s head. The blond’s large and bulky cloak fell about his shoulders as he reached out with a leather gloved hand and stroked the animal’s forelock gently.

“What are you saying, Reeve?” the blond man asked, looking up at the stable master with a knowing look in his eye.

“She’s beyond help. Nothing else for it.” the master replied, his tone firm yet a softening look came to his face as he spoke. Leon couldn’t fathom the words, his own comprehending of the strange language still limited and simple, yet he understood that look. He knew the horse was ill – mortally so – and with a small hitch in his throat his eyes darted to the blond man that crouched beside it and waited. 

“Fine.” the captain spoke finally, his reply soft and regretful and with a subtle nod of his head he gave his consent.

The prisoner made an urgent noise in the back of his throat and stepped forward, his rattling chains announcing his presence and all three men turned in surprise to see him standing there watching them.

“What are you doing here?” Reeve barked, his arms unfolding to curl into fists at his sides as he squared his shoulders. 

Leon hesitated swallowing visibly as his eyes darted quickly between the two men and the boy and as they landed back on the softly panting animal at his feet he stepped forwards again.

“Let me try.” he spoke, his words foreign and strange to the other men who didn’t understand. He saw the incomprehension on their faces and licked his lips nervously, weary of igniting whatever hatred it was they harboured for him. 

“I don’t have time for your gibberish, boy. Get back to work.” Reeve replied, waving him away with a dismissive hand.

Leon flinched but stood his ground. The stable master hadn’t raised a hand to him yet, but the prisoner would never trust a man from the south; not now, not knowing all that they were capable of. 

“Please, let me try.” he repeated, his hands and cold palms beginning to itch with familiar memory. He looked down at the animal again and his features softened. He cautiously lowered himself to his knees, not failing to notice how the blond man scooted back a fraction. Reaching out, Leon placed a careful hand against the horse’s soft muzzle and cooed gently, the animal’s distressed whining fading to heavy breathing as the mare was soothed and with his other hand he tangled the horse’s mane into his fingers, patting her neck delicately, his chains rattling dully.

“What’re you doing, boy?” Reeve cried angrily, stepping forward to reach out and grip the prisoner by the shoulder only for the blond man to signal halt; his gloved had held palm upwards from his crouched position beside Leon.

“It’s alright, Reeve,” he commanded evenly, his eyes fixed on the Gaian as he watched him intently, “Just see what he does.”

Leon barely heard them. His eyes had closed and he’d pushed his senses inwards, shutting the outside world off as he swam in the empty blackness of his mind and searched. The void was bottomless and vast and so prolifically empty of everything it should have been, Leon was almost terrified to delve deeper. There amongst the nothingness should have been the animal’s consciousness; the coil of energy that tethered it to the Lifestream, but there was only cold and empty space. The prisoner could feel the heat of the mare beneath his hands yet his magic-less blood could neither sense her nor touch her. He pushed harder, needing to feel that slow trickle of life that would steadily bleed into him the moment he connected, yet nothing answered him.

He opened his eyes to find the animal still breathing hard, her flanks quaking under the pain of her poisoning and as he looked around at the men who watched him carefully, his face crumbled into helpless distress. He shook his head and continued to stroke the mare’s coat, his own magic lost to him as he felt the beast’s pain and misery but could do nothing to help. 

“This is nonsense. Let me deal with her, Cloud. He can’t help.” Reeve spoke urgently above them, his hand moving to the knife tucked into his belt.

Cloud watched the Gaian carefully, his eyes narrowed and suspicious and quietly calculating and as the wild youth beside him eventually looked up through his tousled bangs, his eyes large and lost and screaming in distress, Cloud released the breath he had been holding through his nose in a steady, defeated sigh. Silently he asked the prisoner, his eyes conveying his meaning, but when all he received was another helpless shake of the prisoner’s head, Cloud nodded in resigned understanding. 

“Do it.” he said reluctantly, watching as Reeve pulled the knife from his belt and bent his knee to rest beside the sweating, panting horse. 

The prisoner watched. His eyes filled with tears as the stable master raised the knife to the mare’s throat and in a quick motion Reeve slashed through the delicate flesh and spilled her blood out onto the straw.

The animal made a wild and desperate sound of fear, her shriek cut short by the mortal wound at her neck and after a few futile struggles to raise her head away from the blade, she lay still and huffed great bubbling breaths through her snout, her pants growing shorter as the moments slipped by. 

Reeve stood and wiped his knife clean on his woollen leggings and watched as the prisoner bowed his head, spreading his fingers through the blooded and soiled tangle of her mane as he muttered his strange and fearful language; bending lower still to rest his forehead against her nose.

The Gaian soothed her through her last moments and when she went entirely still and quiet the prisoner’s face contorted in obvious pain and distress. The tears trapped behind his lashes leaked out and down his cheeks, dripping from the end of his nose to soak into the mare’s silken coat. 

Cloud watched unmoving and silent and felt the beating of his own heart pounding erratically in his chest. He was transfixed, and despite the painful contortion of his own emotions that soured his belly he couldn’t take his eyes away from the sight of the prisoner’s pain. It was so utterly surreal. The image of the barbarian Gaian so openly fragile and exposed, his feral and defiant glare completely dissolved to leave behind a flickering image of a wounded and vulnerable boy was unfathomable, and it disarmed Cloud completely. 

Almost as quickly as the helpless emotion had taken hold, it was swept away again and the Gaian’s quiet sobbing ceased. Straightening his posture, the prisoner untangled his hands from the horse’s mane and sat back, his face composed and measured as his gaze flicked to Cloud and then to the young boy stood watching them both with undisguised wonder. Lastly he looked up at Reeve, resigned to the man’s doubtless punishment for his fruitless interfering.

It was Cloud who broke the moment. He stood in one fluid motion, his cloak falling about his form as he looked down at the Gaian at his feet and then again at the dead animal. He felt that tidal shift in his gut that pulled at him uncomfortably and with a troubled frown he broke his trance and looked up at Reeve.

“I’ll need a new horse.” he spoke, his throat a little raw.

Reeve nodded his understanding, watching as the captain stepped around the prisoner and disappeared through the stall gate.

*******

The shadows that Rufus Shinra created were long and slow and lumbering, his lame leg pulled along behind him as he limped in a steady, uneven gait; his creeping made all the more onerous in his crippled state as he rounded the pillar and emerged from the folded dark of the enclave and watched his father study his maps. King Shinra was too engrossed to have notice him yet. Despite Rufus’ disability, he could still be quiet when the need arose. 

“What do you want, Rufus?” Shinra spoke abruptly, his voice resonating like a grating stone in the quiet of his study. 

“I hoped we might talk a while.” Rufus replied trusting his perfectly schooled features, not wanting to seem as surprised as he felt at being spotted.

“A king does not have time to while away on talk. Have you come with a purpose or simply idle prattle?”

Rufus stepped into the flickering light of the sconce attached to the wall and bowed to his father, his observation of proper protocol not even registering with the king as he continued to study his work. 

“I wish to speak with you about Cloud, your Majesty.” Rufus replied, stepping further towards his father’s large oak desk.

“What of him?”

“He’s been at Avalanche a while now, growing slack and board,” Rufus intoned, noticing how his father stopped his messy scrawl across his letters and looked up, “I wondered if it was not time to send him out again, if only to save his unit from growing lazy and useless.” 

Shinra narrowed his eyes at his son and watched him shrewdly, thinning his lips to almost bloodless nonexistence before he dropped his quill and sat back into his chair, his furs folded around him in swathes of cloth. 

“You know more about The Fifth than a cripple should,” the king commented, watching how his son’s one good eye flashed with the insult, “What’s it to you if Cloud’s men grow idle? Why so eager to be rid of him?”

“Eager, you grace?” Rufus countered, his tone smooth, “I’m only eager to see your lordship prosper. A king’s army is only as strong as its weakest man and I’d not let the failings of a bastard son soil your victory,” the king’s heir was no fool. He knew Shinra had no love of him. Not a real father’s love. Yet even more he knew the contempt Shinra felt for his own mistake of bedding that whore of a woman who got him his bastard son. A thankless wench who’d dropped her unwanted offspring at the castle gates and died in the snows right next to it. What was a king to do with a baby – a baby that would grow to be a Strife and carry the shameful name with him his entire life?

The king may have no love lost for his true son and heir, but his loathing for Cloud was unmistakable. Yet, even so, Rufus saw danger. 

“My victory?” the king sneered, clearly unimpressed, “You speak of my victory as if you would know of such things. You failed me the day you came back from the Gaian boarders a cripple, do not think to lecture me about war and victory. The Fifth stays at Avalanche until General Sephiroth calls. That is my command, and that is what shall be obeyed.”

“Of course, your Grace. I was only thinking of-”

“I know very well what you were thinking of. Your petty rivalry with your brother does you no credit. He’s impotent. A Strife can never marry nor take the throne; he’s a fighting dog at best – a puppet. Leave your juvenile squabbles in the cradle where they belong.”

Knowing his father too well to miss the subtle hint, Rufus’ brow twitched, and a small smile quickly smothered tugged at his cunning lips.

“You have a plan for Lord Strife, your Grace?”

Shinra sneered, recognising the shrewd and knowing gleam that settled in his prodigy’s eyes as he saw it for his own. Despite his only son’s crippling disadvantage, Shinra would always see a measure of himself in Rufus’ blond hair and judicious features. 

“You’ve never reflected your mother,” Shinra said after a while, “She was a beautiful woman.”

“A fortuitous thing; her gifts would only have gone to waste,” Rufus commented, lifting his weakened arm a touch.

Shinra snorted softly, his wistful reminisce short lived and easily forgotten as he straightened his back in his chair and curled his fingers into a loose fist.  
“Cloud goes west, to Coral. I have a message for Lord Angeal,” Shinra reveal finally “But it should take him no more than a week. He will be back for Meteor’s Fall.”

Rufus stood a while, calculating his father’s words and considering their meaning. Angeal’s position at Corel was tactical. It was an advantageous position to have as the small mining town held the key to both the north and southern boarders. 

“You plan to unite the Barons?” he finally spoke, knowing the answer already. 

“There is strength in unity, boy. I would be a fool to think otherwise. Angeal will call the Baron’s to Avalanche and after Meteor’s Fall my strategy will become clearer,” Shinra supplied, nodding his greying head “The Third will continue to hold the garrison at Coral, but we must inflate our army. The Barons will give us that support, or face being cut off from the wealth of my Kingdom.”

“I see,” Rufus replied, his own bitter feelings at being excluded from Shinra’s plans were brittle and hard to digest. Had he a working sword arm and the ability to ride again, he had no doubt the king would have confided in him. As it was, he was no more than his father’s reassurance for a legacy. Rufus smiled but it was void of any warmth.

“I see I have underestimated your cunning once again, father.” he said, lacking sincerity.

“As you always have,” Shinra retorted, one brow raised in mocking condescension, “Now leave me, and talk to me no more of your pitiable feud with my bastard. He’s of no concern to you. Do not make it mine.”

Shinra bowed his head again and went back to his scribblings; his body bent low in the dim light and Rufus left without bothering with his usual respects.


	4. Chapter 4

The morning was bright as the sun broke through the gathering snow clouds to break upon the castle of Avalanche. It was early and the slow tides of movement that gradually gathered momentum and woke the people of the city were sluggish in stirring, as if reluctant to be pulled from sleep to face the day as a winter bear might emerge from hibernation. 

Yet Cloud relished the early hour and the fresh, frigid air that stung his face. The sun’s rays held no warmth but he savoured its light nonetheless. The cold he could just about stand, if there was light to counter it. He stepped into the courtyard, watching the scuttling of the stable boys as they hurried to fetch and carry; passing off bales of hay and bags of oatmeal to each other as they readied the stables and stoked the braziers back to life after the barren night. The smoke from the steaming coals wafted across the cobbles and lifted up into the morning air, carrying with it the scent of burning horse shit and rotten straw and Cloud grimaced.

He saw the boy, Sora, in the large doorway of the stables and as the sandy haired youth spotted him he darted inside, returning only a few moments later with a large Nibelheim mustang, its thick neck and strong legs knotted with proud muscle, the perfect animal to run cross country in the cold and bitter winter. Her coat was mottled grey, flecks of charcoal spotting her hind quarters as if speckled with gritty slush and her mane was braided back and knotted tightly.

“She’s a good horse, Sora. Well done.” Cloud praised, patting the boy on the shoulder. Sora smiled widely up at his captain as he passed the reigns off. 

“They call her Shiva.” he informed the blond man proudly. 

Cloud raised an eyebrow, pulling on the reigns to control the animal’s bobbing head and brought her muzzle to his hand, stroking her nose.

“After Winter’s Wife?” Cloud asked, beginning to wonder who had christened his new mount and suspected a joke at his expense, “Did Lord Fair have a hand in her naming?”

“He chose it himself.” Sora replied, still grinning hugely. 

“Of course he did.” Cloud responded, more to himself than to the small boy and sighed with a wry smile. 

“She’s fast as a blizzard too. You’ll be at Coral and back before you know it.” the boy exclaimed, running his hand down the animal’s flank in approval as he patted her gently.

“I’m sure. Thank you, Sora.” he said motioning his head as he turned the horse to reach her stirrups. 

As Cloud hoisted himself up into the saddle he watched the boy run back to the stables, a shout of greeting leaving him as another figured shuffled out from the darkness of the large wooden building. Cloud settled himself in his saddle and altered the length of his reigns to give the horse her head and watched Sora carefully as he came to a halt in front of the bowed figure of the prisoner. Sora appeared unafraid as he skidded to a short stop and waved in greeting, his warm smile and beaming eyes softening the dark features of the Gaian as the barbarian put his heavy sack down on the ground and watched the animated actions of the boy with fascination. 

Cloud felt Shiva shift underneath him and he steadied the eager animal as he continued to observe the curious young man; the way he stood perfectly still and watched Sora in his boisterous greeting, unfazed and unafraid even as he looked puzzled by the stable boy’s strange and jumbled words. 

Eventually, without knowing what Sora was asking of him and unable to communicate his incomprehension, the Gaian reached into his pocket and pulled out a small half of an apple, untouched and obviously kept for a moment when he would be hungry, and held it out for Sora to take. 

The small boy stopped his expressive movements and stood looking at the Gaian’s outstretched hand, his gaze flicking between the apple and the prisoner’s weary eyes and with a curious smile, Sora reach out and took the offering and stuffed it into his mouth with a pleased grin.

The Gaian smiled back, his lips soft and subtle as he watched the child run away and he stood for a moment, as if considering the encounter for himself before he felt the heavy gaze of Cloud’s eyes on his back. He turned and looked at the blond captain, his small and gentle smile fading to a blank and empty stare, any fleeting emotion he had found in the simple encounter lost as Cloud continued to watch him. 

A subtle ripple of something cold passed down Cloud’s spine as the Gaian turned away and picked up his forgotten sack from the floor. It rattled his teeth and pricked at his flesh and with a small shudder the captain shook it off, turning his horse and finally allowing her some leverage as she sprang forwards and raced towards the gate.

Cloud left the courtyard in a clatter of hooves and a spray of gritty snow; the Gaian watched him go from under tousled bangs and felt a darker pull of desolation fall over him at the man’s leaving. He had no words for it, yet he hardly gave it enough time to think on. What was the comings and goings of one Lord to him? With a small grimace, Leon shifted the sack higher up onto his back, sick of the sound of his metal chains rattling in his ears with every movement and made his way across the courtyard and the kitchens beyond them. 

*******

Aerith crouched low over the hot and expansive hearth and shook the large frying pan that sat over the grate, sending up sparks and embers as she disturbed the coals beneath it. She wiped away the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and then cursed herself as she caught her thumb on the scolding cast iron of the skillet; the rag she had tied around it to prevent it from burning had loosened and come away and with a breathy hiss she stood up and immediately put her thumb in her mouth to sooth the burn. 

“Damn it all to Holy, now look what you made me do!” she scolded the soldier stood behind her and ignored the way he and been admiring her while she’d been bent over, “I’m rushed enough as it is, I don’t need your pestering. Haven’t you got other women to ogle?”

“You’re beginning to make me think you don’t enjoy my company.” Lord Fair said with a faux frown of offence. 

“You’re distracting me,” she told him, the stern frown she’d learnt well enough from Elmyra crumpling her delicate features into a hardened threat.  
“Good, that’s what I’m trying to do,” Zack replied with a devilish smile, flashing a few of his front teeth. 

Aerith rolled her eyes and struck out at him with her cloth, shooing him out of the way as she gathered the tray that had been sat on the bread table.

“The king’s son will have my hide if I’m late, you want that? Holy knows Elmyra chews on it enough as it is. Is that what you fancy, a chewed and wrinkled old kitchen maid to wed?”

Aerith was too busy filling the tankard with sweet mead to notice Zack approach behind her and she jumped at the feel of his hands about her waist.   
“You know I’d have you to wed no matter what your hide looked like.”

Aerith huffed her disagreement and raised a sceptical eyebrow, but she did not remove his hands. She let him rest his chin on her shoulder and watch as she prepared breakfast for the king’s sop of a son and enjoyed the nearness of him; the warmth of his arms as he held her loosely and she didn’t argue that she enjoyed his company a little too much. It was a dream between them really, she knew. But she was content to dream it for now.

“You’d be a fool to think your father would allow you to marry a kitchen maid, Lord Fair.”

“My father wouldn’t have to know.”

Aerith went still in his arms and Zack felt the tension stiffen her back. Her hands slowed to a stop and she ceased her idle preparations.

“Don’t joke about things like that, Zack,” she all but whispered. 

“I’m not joking,” Zack’s voice was firm despite the apprehension he felt at Aerith’s shifting mood. He was forever wary of her mercurial temperament. 

The young girl turned in his arms and stared up at him, her gaze hurt and wounded and for a moment, Zack’s insides froze. 

“Is that how you would have me,” she whispered, offence and pain in her injured stare, “As some sordid secret that would bring shame on your family?”

“What sordid secret, what shame?” Zack asked quickly, knowing he’d pushed too far this morning, knowing he’d said entirely the wrong thing once again.

“Your secret wife,” she almost spat the words, “and then what if it were discovered, our marriage? I’d be the disgrace on your family’s honour for generations to come. You want that of me? You’d dishonour me like that; your family like that?”

Zack pulled away and looked down at his feet in shame. It had been a romantic notion. Something silly he had dreamed about whilst camped out in the wilds on his long and lonely tours of duty, yet he had never thought the idea of marrying him could offend any woman so. 

“I’m sorry, I… I thought…”

“Oh, I know exactly what you were thinking of, and it wasn’t my wedded bliss.” Aerith snapped at him, true and heated shame and pain rising in her cheeks for the first time since meeting her young solider. They had entertained a flirtatious courtship for nearly two long years and there had never been a moment in that time when he had made her feel as he did now: her true and obvious station as a lowly kitchen maid. 

There was a soft shuffle of feet from the far side of the kitchen and both figures turned to see the Gaian stood by the bread ovens, a hessian sack of freshly pulled vegetables dangling by his side as he stared cautiously at the soldier. 

“Are you alright?” he asked turning his eyes to Aerith with concern, his strange language a soft murmur in the silence, accentuated by the crackle of the fire.  
Zack cleared his throat and stepped back, allowing some space between himself and Aerith as she busied herself straightening her skirts.

“There you are, Leon. It’s alright, Elmyra’s not here you can come in. I’ve left some breakfast by the hearth to warm for you.” Aerith replied, flashing Zack a warning glance from the corner of her eye as she turned back to the bread table. 

“I’d better take my leave. Practice begins on the tilt yard in an hour.” Zack explained, turning without waiting for Aerith to reply and he watched the strange foreigner from under lowered brows as he passed, the Gaian returning his glare with equal force.

Once he was gone, Leon lifted the sack again and moved into the large kitchen, placing his mornings work down near the hamper of other fruit and vegetables and watched the young girl’s back as she worked.

“Aerith,” he said her name, knowing it by now and calling her softly, all too aware of her tumultuous emotions. He didn’t have to be connected to the Lifestream to feel them. She was wounded in her spirit and the woman’s pain affected Leon in the same way just as the horse’s had.

Aerith turned to regard him and saw the disquiet in his eyes and felt a small pull of affection for him. How was it these people had come to be called barbarians? She followed his gaze the way Zack had left and understood his silent question.

“I’m alright, just a misunderstanding,” she replied softly, feeling again that pang of hurt at Zack’s thoughtless words. 

Leon moved closer, reaching out to rest his hand on her arm to sooth her as he saw the wound ripple across her face. He did not know the many words the Midgar people spoke and he struggled to articulate his thoughts, choosing instead the word he felt was nearest to his meaning.

“He is… bad?” he asked, furrowing his brows and cocking his head slightly, like a puppy that had heard his masters command yet failed to comprehend. 

“No, not bad,” Aerith smiled fondly, placing her own hand over Leon’s and squeezed his cold fingers, “Just… stupid,” she said eventually, watching as the Gaian rolled the new word around in his mind before repeating it out loud, his melodious accent making the word sound exotic.

“Stupid,” he said, seeming to agree with the new information.

Aerith smiled despite herself and patted his hand gently.

“Here, I’ve made you some breakfast. Sit down and I’ll get it for you,” she ordered pointing towards the large table. Leon did as instructed and placed himself on a stool and waited for the young girl to present him with food. She held out two options; a plate of fried meats, and a bowl of honeyed oatcakes and with a wrinkled nose, Leon declined the sausages and fried bacon and reached for the bowl.

“You don’t eat meat, do you?” Aerith questioned, more to herself as she watched the young man tuck into his breakfast, his chains clanking against the table as he moved his hand to his mouth. He didn’t answer though, far too consumed in his hungry belly to bother untangling her words and he watched her instead with curious eyes. 

Aerith slid the sizzling bacon onto the tray meant for the king’s son and set the large skillet down to cool. She felt the Gaian’s gaze on her back and turned to regard him, his open and curious stare not as unnerving as it should have been, even for the strange and wild-like winter colouring of his eyes. She met him with equal curiosity and watched as he placed his oatcake back into the bowl and self-consciously licked his lips, turning away to hide behind his bangs as if ashamed at being caught staring. 

“Are you alright this morning, Leon?” she asked, reaching out a hand to push back his fringe and place a warm palm against his forehead. His skin was as cold as ever and she felt him tense under her gentle touch. “You seem pale. More than usual.”

Leon stilled and let the young girl touch his face, wincing only slightly as she passed the wound that had scabbed over across the bridge of his nose. He felt her hands come to a stop at his cheeks and lift his downturned face towards her, his innocent eyes meeting hers with a flash of uncertainty. 

“Are you sick?” she asked, keeping her words simple and precise. 

She watched as Leon mulled the words over, translating them slowly in his head before a strange and melancholic expression fell over his face and something deep and instinctual pulled in Aerith’s gut. The feeling was primal and ancient, yet it was gone within a moment and all she was left with was an echo of its passing. 

Leon shook his head and pulled his face from her hands, returning to his meal in silence as Aerith stepped away, still a little winded from the strange feeling that had passed through her. 

“Well alright. I’m going to take Rufus his breakfast. Make sure you’re gone before Elmyra comes back.”

Leon picked at his food, only recognising the name ‘Elmyra’ and nodded his head in agreement. Whatever Aerith had said, if it was about that woman then he knew he was not to loiter about much longer. He stuffed the rest of his food into his mouth and disappeared back down to the stables.

******* 

The stronghold at Coral was bleak and industrial. It sat northwest of Avalanche further up the valley and was just shy of being the most central settling in Midgar. It held the roads leading north and south, plus the road leading to the capital and its garrison held the responsibility of guarding the gateway to the king. The steep plateau to the left and ominous mountains to the right still towered over the landscape and seemed even more confining and stifling this far west; the dirt beneath Shiva’s feet seemed coarser and stonier than the soft moist heathers of the moors, and Cloud felt the dust and the grit on his teeth and tongue as he bent his head low and galloped through the stone archway and into the outer walled perimeter of the mining city. 

He was halted at the inside gate, the guard on patrol raising his hand in salutation as he recognised Cloud’s colours draped across his horse and reached up to grasp at Shiva’s reigns as Cloud pulled her to a stop. 

“I’m on business for the king. Let me through,” Cloud spoke, his tone firm and slightly breathless from his speedy gallop. Shiva had been every bit as fast and as punishing as Sora had promised. Winter’s Wife she was named indeed. 

“As you wish. Let him through,” the guard called over his shoulder and let go of the reigns.

Shiva shifted, eager to be off again as Cloud waited for the large oak doors to be swung back on their hinges. He could hear the monstrous metal crank turning in the wheel house above him and the chains straining against the cold and damp as they snapped taught and dragged the doors apart a fraction. It was enough to let Cloud and his horse through, the captain pulling against Shiva’s powerful neck as she longed to get her stride back. He nudged her forwards, his heels barely clipping her sides before she bolted away, coming up short as Cloud pulled hard on her bit and controlled her mad dash to a strained canter. 

The streets of Coral were dirt packed and frozen solid with the cold. A dusting of fresh snow lay on them that would soon be stirred up by travelling feet and Cloud passed quickly and quietly through the early morning fog. He was eager to be at the garrison. He’d travelled all night to get to the walls within good time and his body was weary of the saddle. Passing through the streets with ease of memory, Cloud continued west and then turned north abruptly, cutting through the miner’s quarters and the back streets as he picked his way over gutters and sewer bridges. Shiva stalled at the sound of the large anvils waking in the distance, their heavy hammers falling and breaking the dawn silence and with a large heft of his body, Cloud nudged her over the last drain and out onto the Garrison Road. 

He passed the sentinel who stood asleep at his post and with a raised eyebrow, Cloud stowed the information away and rode onwards, passing under the portcullis and into the courtyard where he was met by a small stable boy, about Sora’s age. The boy reached up and took hold of Shiva’s reigns, steadying her with a small shush and a firm pat against her neck.

“What’s your name, boy?” Cloud asked as he waited for Shiva to settle and climbed down with a stiff wince.

“Roxas, m’lord,” he replied, lowing her eyes appropriately. 

“Roxas, this is Shiva. Take good care of her, or she’ll have me know of it,” Cloud told the boy, patting him on the shoulder as he looked up to see a man approach. He was tall – taller than Cloud at any rate – with shoulder length sandy hair and pointed features. His cloth spoke of noble status but his bearing told Cloud he was no fighter and as he drew nearer, Cloud recognised him as Lazard. 

“The crows told me to expect you, Lord Strife,” Lazard spoke as he came to a halt a few feet from the captain and watched the stable boy retreat with Shiva in tow. “I wonder why it was necessary of you to come at all.”

Cloud did not remove his glove to shake the man’s hand and stood impassive and unmoving as he watched him. 

“The king’s crows cannot be trusted with all of Midgar’s messages, Lazard.”

The man’s lips pulled into a vague semblance of a smile and then the gesture was gone again in a flickering heartbeat. 

“It is a foolish man who houses his chickens with the foxes. Your father taught me that,” Lazard said nodding his head in agreement and stood aside, gesturing for Cloud to follow him as he turned and made his way back up to the garrison’s keep. 

The captain kept pace and followed him through echoing stone corridors and up two flights of stairs pulling short as they stopped outside a small and unassuming dark stained wooden door. Lazard did not knock and let himself in, opening the door wide for Cloud to follow him as they crossed the threshold into a warmly lit room full of furs and walls hangings; a cheery fire burnt brightly in the hearth and the Lord Angeal sat behind his expansive walnut desk shrouded in a cloak of deep russet black bear fur. 

The large man stood upon their entrance, eyeballing Cloud immediately and looked past Lazard as if he weren’t there. 

“We’ve been expecting you, Cloud, welcome,” he motioned to the high backed chair opposite his desk as Cloud breezed past Lazard without stopping to thank him.

“An honour to meet with you again, my Lord,” Cloud acknowledged him, reaching across the span of his table to brace his hand across Angeal’s forearm, as the giant of a man did the same to him; their formal warriors greeting a time honoured custom.

“The honour is all mine,” Angeal smiled briefly but warmly, his unnecessary compliment but another dagger to Cloud’s sullied name. Angeal had always been too kind to him. 

Cloud winced more than smiled in return and they loosened their grip and sat down. The blond captain was grateful for the reprieve on his tired and aching muscles and he held back a groan of discomfort as he settled himself into the chair. 

“Lazard, bring us wine and food. I’m sure Lord Strife as had little of either on his journey here,” Angeal commanded, pointedly ignoring the way the nobleman’s brows rose at the request. 

“I shall have a servant attend to you immediately,” Lazard replied instead, turning on his heel and closed the door behind him as he left.   
“How was the road?” Angeal asked, getting straight to business.

“Quiet, especially for this time of year. Hardly a Crawler or a Blood Taste to be seen,” Cloud replied finally removing his gloves finger by finger. 

“I hear The Fifth keeps our lands blessedly free of monsters,” Angeal smiled, noting the wry look of humour that crossed Cloud’s face as he spoke. 

“We must be useful for something,” Cloud agreed, flexing his stiff knuckles that had seized up with the cold and the long journey, “The king would not have us idle, not matter how useless the division.”

“The Fifth is not useless. You have good men, Cloud. The king is a fool if he thinks he can shame them with your name. You have proven your worth, even if it’s only to your men.”

“It’s not battle and glory I seek,” Cloud admitted, ignoring his peer’s adulation. 

“But it is what we shall find nonetheless, should king Shinra have his way. I’ve heard news of the Gaian,” Angeal pulled free a small wrap of parchment, too small for a messenger but fitted cunningly to a crow’s leg it could make its way across many miles. 

“And I bring further news. The king would have you unite the Barons; particularly Ansem. He’s interested in what he holds at Hollow Bastian.”

“The Barons? That is no small feat. They are scattered across Midgar some many miles from each other,” Angeal replied, scratching idly at his chin as he thought.

“As was the point, at the time. Too many Barons in close quarters breeds contempt; the king saw danger in them colluding so neatly together,” Cloud reminded him.

“I do not know if they will unite. They are many allegiances between them and their conspiring goes beyond me. Some would rather swallow poison than sit in the same hall as another.”

“Let them,” Cloud said stretching his aching shoulders subtly against the solid wood of the chair, the action making it appear as if he bristled with irritation, “It would mean a few less Barons for us to deal with.”

Angeal laughed, the sound a short sharp bark of humour against the soft snapping of the fire and the low howling wind that whistled through the gaps in the glass panes. 

“I’ve always approved of your way with diplomacy,” Angeal grinned, his good humour forcing a small smile to Cloud’s lips.   
“I wasn’t made for a life of mediation,” Cloud replied wryly.

“And yet you say you seek neither battle nor glory. What kind of a life were you born for, I wonder?” Angeal sat back in his chair also and regarded the blond captain thoughtfully, his pertinent question tearing at the edges of a wound Cloud hadn’t yet even begun to acknowledge and the blond captain winced internally.   
I wanted it once… a life of triumph and scars and victory. What happened to me, where did it go?

“Right now I’d settle for a warm fire and a full belly,” Cloud dodged the question, frowning deeply as he quashed the dangerous thoughts that had surfaced with Angeal’s careful prodding. 

“A fair enough request, I’ll have Lazard show you to your quarters. Will you be staying long?”

Cloud shook his head, his blond bangs dancing across his eyes with the gesture, “No. The king wished my return for Meteor’s Fall.”

“The Winter Equinox. It has been many years since I’ve celebrated the darkest night at Avalanche. Does Hojo still hold his ceremony?” Angeal looked up casually as the door opened and a servant entered, placing a tray of food and drink on their table and bowed lowly as he backed away, disappearing as subtly as he came.

“It goes on so long we could honour Jenova’s Light and be done with the year’s celebrations in one ceremony.” Cloud responded dryly, sharing a look of conspiratorial agony with his fellow captain at they remembered he long hours of standing and kneeling, giving praise and muttering thanks.

“Such a pity then that I will not be able to join you once again this year,” Angeal smiled smugly, lifting a glass of freshly poured wine to his lips. “To your good health, Cloud. I have missed your subtle humour,” he drank deeply and Cloud reached for his own glass, a little flustered and warmed by the captain’s honest words and he secretly bemoaned once again that one of his only allies should be so far away; a strategy that had not been an accident on his father’s part, he was sure. 

“And to you, Angeal,” he replied affectionately, raising his glass with a soft nod of his head. 

*******

The mountains that divided the two kingdoms of Midgar and Balamb were bordered with forests and capped with snow and ice, their peaks lost high up within the swirling snow clouds and the gathering mists that veiled the sacred foothills. Here king Shinra’s empire came to its end, rebuffed by a thousand years of ancient magic, shifting shadows and spirits, and a ferocious people long borne from legend said to possess the bodies of unnatural animals and devils. Their legacy filled the air, their sorcery tainting the flakes of snow that drifted on the winds and polluted the ice cold rivers that trickled down into the valley below. The very atmosphere seemed to hum and vibrate an echo of a memory singing in the space between trees that swayed in the gentle breeze.

General Sephiroth stood upon the plane that brokered the bordering forest; his army camped in sullen and uncertain silence behind him, and sniffed the corrupted air. It tasted of cold and metallic frost, an edge of something ancient turning bitter on his tongue as his eyes shifted along the border of the dark tree line, his flickering emerald eyes piercing deep into the shadows the bowers created. He could see nothing; no shifting movement or sign of any passage and could only feel the tense anticipation, as if the mountains themselves had drawn a great breath and was holding it tightly in there deep and impervious rock.

They had been in camp for nearly a week and the general itched for the release of battle. He could feel eyes of the Gaians on them, watching them, sizing their enemy and waiting for the spark that would ignite the flame, and Sephiroth would give it to them. 

Before this day was done, the barbarians of Balamb would know king Shinra’s intent, and they would mourn the loss of one of their own.

“They see us,” a voice called from his left, a man in red coming to stand beside the general with a languid, easy grace even in the soft and powdery snow. 

“They do,” Sephiroth replied, sparing Genesis a small glance as his grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, the leather of his gloves creaking subtly in the frigid air. 

“We should give them something to watch,” Genesis smirked, caressing the tree line with his gaze as he ducked his chin a touch.

Sephiroth turned at the waist and lifted a hand to signal his men, two of them stumbling forward from the ranks of disciplined soldiers lined up in eerie silence as they waited. The two men dragged something between them and stopped a full two hundred yards from the general. One of them raised a stake into the ground, the force of it thudding dully through the snow and vibrated against the soles of Sephiroth’s feet. Between them the men lifted the large and battered head of the lion Familiar, its eyes milky and flyblown, its mouth hung open in a grotesque and soundless roar. Its mane was matted and shredded, soaked in dried blood and gore from where it had been severed from its body and the sound of cracking skull could be heard on the wind as the men drove the spike through the top of its head.

The men waited a while, turning to face the tree line and watched as the shifting in the air heightened, as if the strings of a bow had been pulled back and with another signal from their general, they lit a torch and set the lion’s head on fire. 

A ghostly wail ascended from deep within the trees. It began as a slow and mournful sound, resonating deep within the earth and then rose to shake the very branches of the forest, the wall of sound rushing towards the line of soldiers and made them edge back in fright and terror. The cry seemed to have no crescendo or peak, only kept on sounding out, long and pained and desolate and underneath the terrible noise, a piercing shriek and a human battle cry began.

The tree line came alive with figures and the shifting lights of blue and green spirits, their forms unsubstantial and translucent. Some darted into the sky and seemed to melt into the air and others appeared to submerge beneath the ground, only for the sky to burst with thousands of frozen shards, sharp enough to graze flesh from bone, and the ground to splinter upwards and create great chasms in the earth.

The figures hidden in the trees charged forwards, shrieking their battle noise and rushed towards the waiting line of soldier ready to meet them in war that had been a hundred of years in wait.

Sephiroth’s smirk widened and he withdrew his sword, feeling the shifting of the air as Genesis mirrored him and relaxed into an easy stance.

“Lead the way, Sephiroth. I’m right behind you,” the captain of The Second said, his voice a sing song melody as he watched the general lunge forwards, his blade clashing with the steel of the Gaian’s and the sound seemed to echo along the floor of the valley even as it quivered and shook under the force of the ancient magic that ruptured it.


	5. Chapter 5

Leon lay in the straw of the hayloft above the stables and watched as the she-cat cleaned her kittens. He lay with his head pillowed against the crook of his arm, the comforting smells of the wood and the dried grasses and the horses making him lazy and sleepy; the soft mews of the day old kittens and their clumsy exploration of their new world made him smile quietly to himself and he reached out tentatively with his free hand as one stumbled too far from the safety of its mother. Leon gently nudged it the right way, coaxing the small creature back under the watchful eye of the she-cat and let his fingers fall lax against the straw strewn boards. 

He was hiding – avoiding the chaos of life that had erupted in the castle these last few days, unsure as to what had ignited the sudden excitement. The constant hum of activity was unsettling and exhausting, the Gaian always at a loss to what was happening, unable to keep up with the jumbled and caustic sounds of the Midgar speech; always aware that people were watching him, avoiding him and ready to hurt him if he came too close. He had spent his first few weeks simply finding safe spaces to hide in, and the hayloft above the stables had become his own small sanctuary. His new world was now so full of uncertainty and pain and loss, even the smallest comforts brought great joy to his heart and he felt his fractured and dissonant soul quiver with an ache he couldn’t soothe. 

He shut his eyes and quietly began to hum, the gentle noise a soft melody of a song he’d learnt many years ago as a child and he tried to think of his homeland. In his mind he could see the rolling hills and swaying trees, the mottled moss covered ground and the dappled sunlight that filtered through the branches. He could feel the way the wind stirred the air, lifting up the scents of the leaf mulch and the rich earth; the smells of jasmine and wild flower that carried on the breeze and the way the forest had burst with life as the sun had warmed him; the sounds of the birds as they’d sung and the insects as they’d buzzed. 

Leon’s throat seized up and the melodious tune of his humming ceased in a tight, inelegant croak. His eyes slid open and the cold and bitter frost of the morning came crashing in on him once again; the feel of wood and stone all around him hemmed in his senses and pressed down on his fractured mind. He felt the crushing defeat of his capture and the desolate loneliness of his desperation in so many minute ways that it was overwhelming, and he had to bite his lip to quell the mournful sound of pain that was lodged in his throat. 

He had wandered far from home many times. As a child he had preferred the solitary quiet of the forest and had sought its comfort more often than the reassurance of his own people; he had Griever to accompany him and he’d never once in his life understood what I meant to be lonely. But now the Gaian was aching in his soul for his own kind. He’d give anything to feel the connection to his kin and their soft words of comfort again. He had no idea that isolation could breed such pain and he regretted, now more than ever, his decision to travel the boarders of Balamb alone.

Below him he could hear the soft murmurs of the horses and the stable boy, Sora. The child worked happily, chattering to the animals as he cared for them, and the sound of his gentle voice was comforting to Leon. Despite himself, and despite his hatred of the Midgarian people, he had grown fond of the boy; it wasn’t in the Gaian’s nature to hate indiscriminately, and he couldn’t deny the child’s warm and open heart. 

A loud voice roared from the entrance of the stables and the sound carried on the blustery flurries of snow that swirled in the air and it startled Leon from his half dose, making him jolt and raise himself onto one elbow. The horses whinnied and snickered below him, shuffling uneasily in their stalls and the Gaian sharpened his senses, dragging himself to his knees in early readiness should he need to flee suddenly. 

The voice bellowed for Sora, the child’s name clear and defined but the rest of the words were lost to the scramble and jumble of the still strange Midgarian language. However, Leon could still be certain that the man was angry. His tone thundered and vibrated the air and it sent a ripple of unease through the prisoner. 

Sora’s quieter, timid voice could be heard in answer only to be smothered by angrier shouts and Leon shuffled closer to the edge of the loft, careful not to over-balance, and he looked down, his vantage point giving him the perfect view of captain Bannock as he pulled the small boy from one of the stalls and shook him where he stood, his large, meaty face red and blotchy with anger as he shoved Sora to the ground.

Leon’s brows creased in silent fury, his heart wounded for the unfair treatment of the child as he watched Sora try to shuffle away, unable to stand fast enough before Bannocks large, booted foot came crashing down into his side and winded him, rolling him over into a crumpled pile amongst the straw. 

Standing quickly, Leon shuffled to the trapdoor and pulled it open; carefully placing his manacled feet onto the top rung of the ladder and began to climb down. His heart was hammering in his chest as he tasted the first metallic bites of rage on the back of his tongue. He jumped the last few steps, landing with elegant precision on the balls of his feet and spun quickly, reassessing the scene in front of him. Bannock had his back to him, his anger pulling his focus away from his surroundings as he continued to kick the boy, reaching down to swipe at him with a club-like hand when Sora managed to skirt away enough to miss his foot, and Leon charged, gathering the excess chains between his shackled hands and bunched them up, bringing them down around Bannock’s head as he barrelled into him, knocking him sideways in a stunned waddle. 

The bear-like captain stumbled and ducked away, bringing his hands up to protect the back of his head as Leon charged again and raised his fists, crashing the chains against Bannock’s broad back and with a swipe of his foot, the prisoner collapsed the great man’s knee and sent him crumbling to the ground with a roar of pain. 

Leon hurriedly turned to the cowering boy and lifted him up by his arm: “Go,” he said quickly, pushing him towards the large open stable doors, and in a bewildered and frightened state of awe, Sora nodded, mouth gaping and eyes wide as he ran, only looking back over his shoulder once to see the large captain stagger to his feet as the Gaian turned to meet him again.

Bannock roared in fury, his fists clenched into boulders at his sides as his red-misted gaze fell upon the prisoner.

“You!” he raised a snarled finger to point at the youth, “I’ll kill you!” he charged at Leon, his giant lumbering steps quicker than the Gaian had anticipated and before the young Gaian could sidestep out of the way, Bannock had crashed into him, shunting his shoulder, and sent him sprawling out onto the hard packed earth.

Leon landed with a breathless cry; the wind knocked from his lungs as he opened his eyes and he stared up into the face of the snarling captain. He felt a large hand grip the flesh of his neck and pull him upright again, his legs dangling and kicking uselessly in the air before Bannock set him on his feet again, only to raise his other fist and send it crashing into Leon’s face.

The prisoner fell for a second time, clutching his nose as he felt the first warm spurts of blood gush out over his chin. He grunted in pain and tried to roll out of the way, aware that he was in danger but he was too dizzy and disorientated from the staggering blow; he felt the crushing weight of Bannock’s boot in his side a moment later. The impact turned him onto his back, his world flipped again and he barely had time to cover his vulnerable face as the captain knelt into his stomach and pinned him to the ground, gripping a large fistful of hair. With a quick jerk, he smashed Leon’s head against the hard packed earth and blinding stars exploded behind the Gaian’s closed eyelids. He thrashed weakly, unable to shift the larger man’s weight from on top of him and he clawed pathetically at the man’s thick arms, set like tree trunks. As his head made contact with the frozen mud once again, Leon finally slipped into unconsciousness, his own arms sagging and his body turning limp as Bannock continued to pummel him into the ground. 

******

“Aerith… Aerith where are you?!” Sora scrambled up the last few steps into the corridor that led to the kitchens, and burst through the stone archway. The large room was warm but empty, the fire crackling and snapping in the silence and with a panicked wince Sora swirled on his feet and clutched his wounded arm to his side; Bannock had wrenched it when he’d pulled him from the stables and it ached terribly, but the small boy pushed the pain to the back of his mind as his eyes darted about the kitchens, thinking of the most likely place the maid had gone to. 

“Aerith!” he called again. Panic was setting in fast, and with a frustrated cry, Sora turned sharply, hoping to find the young woman out in the courtyard below them only to run face first into a solid body. He staggered back and cried out in pain as his arm throbbed and with a startled expression he looked up into the concerned face of Aerith as she steadied him on his feet. 

“Woah there, what is it, Sora, what’s all the commotion?”

“You’ve gotta come quick, it’s the Gaian.”

“What about him?” Aerith’s tone became firm, her worried eyes turning fierce as her gip around Sora’s arms tightened. 

“It’s… It’s all my fault,” Sora began, his eyes starting to mist with tears of frustration “I didn’t tack the captain’s horse right. The saddle came loose and he fell. He was mad as Holy and came at me,” the young boy could barely get his breath, his small chest heaving with the effort of his desperate escape. “I don’t know what happened, suddenly Leon was there and he was fighting the captain. He told me to run, so I did. I can’t leave him there, Aerith; Bannock will kill him.”

“It’s alright, calm down,” Aerith soothed him, her tone gentle but firm as she stroked the side of his face and swiped a tear from his cheek with her thumb, “Where is he?”

“In the stables, last I saw. Please Aerith, you gotta stop him!”

“I doubt I can do much good, but come on,” the young woman said, taking Sora’s hand and leading the way back down the long and spiralling staircase.

They rushed out into the courtyard, passing the water well and vegetable gardens, cattle sheds and the orchard that spread around the side of castle Avalanche. They ducked quickly under the low archway that separated the servants courtyard from the tilt yard, the close looming walls casting long shadows on the cobbles, and they hurried through the underpass to the stable yard, Aerith nearly slipping on the snowy ground as it curved downwards slightly; the stables set into the gradual incline of the hillside. 

The pair came to a frantic stop, huffing great lungful’s of air from their mad sprint and their eyes fell upon the sight of the Gaian splayed out upon the ground, unmoving and clearly unconscious, and Reeve stood over him, blocking Bannock by the shoulder as he tried to hold him off. 

“You’ve done enough, captain. Let him be now,” Reeve called, digging his back leg in further to brace himself against the huge man’s advances.

“I’ll kill him, I swear to Holy, I’ll bloody kill him!” the captain roared and Aerith shrank back, hiding the small boy behind her.

“You already have, stop now,” Reeve cried, pushing one last time against the man and he managed to create a small amount of distance between them. The captain was about to lunge again but Reeve raised his hand, palm outwards and glared a deadly threat: “Stop!”

Bannock halted in his tracks and stood there, huffing great breaths of fury into the cold morning air. His shoulders were tense and his bloody fists were curled at his sides but he did not attack again. He snorted several great breaths of fuming air, curling from his nostrils like smoke and with a grunt of dissatisfaction he turned instead and stormed from the stables, his violent fury leaving the place empty and barren in its wake. 

“Reeve,” Aerith uttered once he had gone, her voice soaked with worry as she watched the stable master turn and kneel down beside the prisoner. She hurried to his side and tried to hold in the gasp of shock as her eyes settled on Leon. He was bloody and beaten; his pale features almost unrecognisable under all of the gore and with a tender hand, Aerith reached out to stroke back the matted bangs from around his face. 

“He’s alive, but only just. If he makes it through this one I’ll not have him back here, Aerith,” Reeve muttered sternly, checking the youth’s pulse at his neck. 

“Reeve, this is hardly the ti-”

“I mean it. He’s nothing but trouble. If he lives, I want him gone; find him somewhere else to work.”

Aerith scowled at him but held her tongue. She looked back down at the bloodied mess of the Gaian and felt her panic spike. She couldn’t heal this.

“We have to get him to Merlin. These wounds are beyond me.”

Reeve nodded gravely and grunted as he bent to gather the limp form of the prisoner into his arms. He staggered to his feet and resettled the youth’s weight against his chest and nodded to Aerith to lead the way. 

Sora followed behind them quickly, his face strained with worry and guilt as he looked back at the pool of blood left on the ground and watched it slowly soaking into the straw.

*******

“You’ll be sure to give Zack my best wishes?” Angeal asked with a slight pull of his lips, the honest and unquestionable affection he held for his old student still obvious in the way his eyes softened. 

“I will,” Cloud nodded, bolstering himself for the long journey home. He’d not sleep again until he reached Avalanche, and the prospect of riding all night filled him with dread “He will be pleased to hear you’re well.”

Angeal gave a short sharp bark of amusement and clapped the younger captain on the back: “I would not be so sure. My name was a regular curse when I schooled you both.”

“And we’re both the better fighters for it,” Cloud replied, smiling slightly at the memories as they floated back to him through the haze of time. Angeal had spent many years training them both, and not all of those years had been comfortable ones. Captain Hewley had been a tough master to please. 

“If your younger self could hear you now, praising me so!” Angeal teased, turning on his heal as the stable boy, Roxas, brought him their horses. 

“How long will it take you to reach Hollow Bastian?” Cloud enquired, taking Shiva’s reigns into his own hand. He nodded in thanks to the small boy and pulled the spirited mare round into wider space out on the courtyard. 

“A week, maybe longer if I’m delayed by beasts; there are reports they grow wilder and in greater numbers further south.”

“I’ve heard that too,” Cloud agreed solemnly, his lips pinched in thought “I’ve heard-”

“I know, the rumours have reached my ears also,” Angeal’s mouth tightened a fraction and his eyes narrowed in consideration “For a king who despises magic users, Shinra keeps strange council.”

“Ansem is a powerful man,” Cloud replied, his voice soft and measured as it always was when he talked of his father’s rule “It makes sense to keep a man with such an aptitude close: better to have him an ally than an enemy.”

Angeal smiled, the gesture broadening the longer he looked at the blond captain:

“You never cease to impress me, Cloud. It’s a pity your name prevents you from becoming the king that Shinra always should have been.”

“Be careful, Angeal, that’s almost treason,” Cloud returned the smile, though his own barely reached his eyes. He was touched by his mentor’s words and faith, but he was equally disturbed by them. He had no notion in his head for treachery and usurping his father had never been part of his plans; however that would never stop certain tongues from wagging should they have reason to doubt his loyalty.

Angeal let out a peel of hearty laughter once again and he turned to climb atop his horse. 

“It’s a pity we shall not see each other again for many months. I’ve enjoyed your company,” Angeal confessed as he settled himself, and Cloud followed suit, immediately straining against Shiva’s bit as she longed to bolt ahead. 

“We’ll see each other soon enough, If my father has his way.”

They parted ways on the great southern road, with Cloud turning abruptly east as soon as they were clear of the city and Angeal watched him go for a moment before he kicked his own horse into a gallop and headed for the great plateau. 

*******

Sephiroth stood on the ruined snow, the once soft white blanket now churned to mud beyond bloody recognition, and he thrust his great sword into the earth. He let go of the weapon and watched it sway backwards and forwards in the bitter wind, the burnished steel glinting with dark spots of dried blood and gore along its length. Masamune had taken many lives at the hand of its master, and Sephiroth breathed in the freezing air and smelt death on the wind. The battle had not been a victory, not by the General’s standards. The Gaian’s had retreated, melting back into the fringe of the forest almost as seamlessly as they’d emerged and one by one, Sephiroth’s First army burnt itself to a stop, slowly trailing back to camp, reluctant to follow the godless spirits into the woods and succumb to an ambush.

“It’s hard to know their numbers,” Genesis remarked as he came to stand beside the General. His red leather armour creaked with his movements and his breath fogged as he spoke, misting in front of his shrewd and piercing eyes as he scanned the horizon. “They travel as if a shapeless mass.”

“A Gaian and its Guardian move as one, but separate; for every Gaian we can count we should remember its paramour also. This band of scouts was small; take their Guardian’s into account and they had a force of roughly two hundred,” Sephiroth commented, his gaze never wavering from the indistinct darkness of the forest “They should not have been able to withstand our attack.”

“We have known for years they are difficult to kill. Bannock’s men have shown us how, the difficulty is finding the Guardian’s weak spot and exploiting it; every one of them is different from the rest,” Genesis reasoned, as displeased about the unhealthy advantage as his General was. 

“My thoughts also,” Sephiroth nodded, his face never changing as he looked down at his soiled leather gloves and curled his fingers as he thought “Meeting them in battle is proving useless. There they have the advantage; they can out manoeuvre us, confuse us with their spells and cause great damage over large distances. We cannot allow them to gather in great numbers if we ever wish to defeat them.”

“What do you suggest?” Genesis raised an eyebrow, turning to face Sephiroth with an appraising look as he watched his General’s mind work. He had seen that look of calculating brilliance pass over his friend’s face more times than he’d care to remember, and a subtle flutter of anticipation and excitement warmed his blood.

“We will send a scouting party into the forest, as far back as the foothills if we must. I want to know where they’re camped and how many are this side of the mountains. They must need resources: food, clothing, water. I want to know their defences; drawing them out will no longer be enough, we need to weaken them from the inside.”

“It will be risky; they have eyes in many places and may be prepared for spies.”

“I’ve no doubt, but I’d chance a one on one encounter with a Gaian coming off in our favour – now that we know their weakness – over a battle of hundreds. This way is slower, but with a higher chance of success. I’m a patient man, and we can afford to wait,” Sephiroth reached for Masamune and pulled it free of the frozen mud. He wiped it off on the long lapels of his woollen coat and holstered it with a satisfying click “Bring me Kunsel, I have orders for him.”

The General turned and picked his way among the dead bodies – the majority of them his men – and signalled the waiting squire to bring him his horse. Genesis followed, only glancing back at the shadows in the swaying trees once as he felt the eyes of the godless heathens follow him. 

*******

Avery Tower was bitterly cold and the steps that wound around the outside were treacherous with snow and ice, yet Rufus battled the high winds on his ruined leg and made it to the top, breathing in the last of the pure, frosted air before he disappeared into the stink of the messenger birds. 

The room was lofty and cheerless. Hundreds of black crows sat perched on filthy, shit strewn wooden beams and cawed in agitation at the man’s blustery entrance, disturbed by the flurries of snow that followed him into the room on the tails of his cloak. Their yellow ringed eyes peered down from the gloom of the rafters and the sounds of fluttering wings echoed in the chill quiet. 

“What word from Corel?” the king’s son asked tersely as they bird master turned at his approach. The wizened and haggard old man snarled a short greeting and hunkered down into his own cloak, the collar of it tattered and laying in strips that made him look as wraith-like as his birds and he hacked a wet and bone-rattling cough as he hobbled to the back wall. Stacked against the curving brickwork of the tower was a large bookshelf, arranged with piles of scrolls and tags of paper separated and categorised by sender and recipient. The bird keeper stood and considered it for a short while, reaching out bent and crooked fingers and delicately plucked a small scroll from a high shelf. 

“Came in two hours ago; The Master Lazard’s handwriting,” the old man’s voice was gravely and scratchy, as if he barely used it and it hurt him to do so, and with a hardly concealed disgusted curl of his lip, Rufus took the scroll from him. He left without giving thanks and turned to make his way down the slippery steps, keeping in tight to the wall as he wound his way back to the lower turrets and walkways along the castle wall and limped back to his private chambers, pleased to be within the warmth of his rooms once again. 

Rufus sat himself beside his fire with a difficult and pained wince, holding back a sigh of frustration at his own crippled body, and quickly slipped his gloves off, laying them on the table beside his chair, and then reached into his jerkin and pulled the paper free. Unravelling it with long elegant fingers that would never again hold a sword, he recognised Lazard’s neat scrawl.

'The wolf stirs in the west.'

Rufus knew well what it meant and his slow burning jealously rose in a spike of anger at the implications. His narrowed eyes cut to the fire and he watched the flames dance without seeing them, the small scrap of paper in his fingers crumpled beyond recognition as he threw it into the heat and watched it burn. 

“Not the news you were hoping for, my Lord?” a smooth and elegant voice called from the shadows. 

Rufus hardly flinched, yet his nostrils flared at the intrusion, only for his temper to settle when his eyes met those of Tsung. The black haired noble had long been a trusted friend and even Rufus’ fall from grace had not diminished his loyalty. 

“It was expected,” Rufus replied, his words tight and clipped. 

“Lazard sends word of the bastard?”

Rufus nodded, easing his jaw a little and relaxed his shoulders “He has. It seems we were not so foolish after all.”

Tsung moved to sit in the opposite chair, his poised and immaculate face still serene and considering as he watched his friend. 

“What does he say?”

“Very little. He will be here within the week. Meteor’s fall is in two days, and I shall need to take council with him before then.”

“And what of Strife?” Tsung asked, watching Rufus as his features darkened at the name.

“We continue to watch him.”

The king’s son said no more and they both slipped into silence, watching the brightly burning flames until the room turned to darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

Leon awoke from the darkness of his mind to a smell of thick, acrid smoke that caused his throat to itch and tighten. He attempted to wrinkle his nose when a blinding pain in his face made him halt and a muffled groan croaked from his parched lips. The sound seemed to echo in his head and he felt the nausea rise up in his belly as he struggled to open his heavy eyes. 

“Ah, you are awake, at last!” came a strange voice, floating to him through the intoxicating scent of cloves and firewood. 

Leon turned his head towards the sound, his mind startled at the nearness of another person, his consciousness not yet registering that he could understand the words.

“Where… where am I?” he stuttered in reply, his words harsh and course, like gravel. 

“You are safe, young one, quite safe. Do not try to move, you will undo all my good work. Here,”

A cup was placed to Leon’s lips and a hand supported the back of his head, just the touch of the stranger’s fingers making him wince as the bruise to his skull was brushed. 

The young Gaian heard the rattle of his chains as he lifted his hand to steady the vessel and he drank greedily, sighing with relief as he sank back into the warm pillows, the aftertaste of incense still on his tongue. He was still a prisoner, he knew, yet he could sense no urgent danger from the stranger and he felt oddly comfortable.

“You have been through quite an ordeal, how do you fair?” the voice asked him with a note of impatience and with a pained wince, Leon cracked an eye open, the blurred shape of an old man coming into focus through the wavering shadows of a fire-lit room.

“Strange,” Leon replied, feeling as if he were floating in a dream, yet the pains of his wounds told him he was quite awake. 

The stranger huffed, the sound thin and wispy, as if he were exhaling his last breathes of air and then he tutted, “That will be my sleeping spell; quite a powerful thing, but necessary, nonetheless. You were in grave danger when they brought you to me.”

The prisoner took a few moments to process the stranger’s words, his fractured mind piecing the information together before he located the thing that had alarmed him the most.

“Sleeping spell? You are Gaian?” he replied, managing to open his other, still swollen eye, and squint up at the old man sat by his bedside. Leon blinked rapidly, clearing his misted vision and looked upon the sight of an ancient man, dressed in old and wrinkled robes that had perhaps once been blue. They were faded and dusty now, worn to near rags and were spotted with tattered holes, the hems of his sleeves frayed and charred, and his beard which had been thick and white in his younger years was now thin and grey and as translucent as cobwebs. Tufts of flimsy white hair stuck out at all sides of his head, poking from beneath a strange hat that sat broad and lopsided on his head, the top of it flat and quite squished and from behind thick cut eye glasses, two milky blue eyes peered at him with sharp interest. 

“No, not Gaian, but I have been there: to Balamb, that is to say.”

“You speak the Gaian tongue,” Leon replied in wonder, far too overwhelmed at hearing his own familiar and loved language to pay too close attention to his current predicament. He was having trouble remembering what had happened and he could no better recall the events that had lead him to where he was than he could count how many days had passed, yet he was filled with a sudden excitement at the discovery of the old man. 

“I do. I travelled for many years to study with the great Aeons of your country. It was a long time ago now, but I have never forgotten how to speak in their way. I found it a most beautiful language.”

Leon attempted to sit up, but found he could not. He winced against the pain in his ribs and ceased his struggling, taking the offered cup of water when it was placed into his hand once again. 

“Who are you?” he asked when he had quenched his thirst. 

“My name is Merlin,” the old man replied, sitting back in his chair with a gentle creak and he folded his gnarled and crooked fingers into his lap “And you are in my rooms. Aerith brought you to me after you saved poor Sora. She was quite concerned for you, though mostly all you’ve done is sleep; in my bed no less.”

“Aerith?” Leon repeated, his confusion and worry clearing at the name and he felt instead a curious mixture of relief and anxiety. Aerith had saved him, again? Leon began to vaguely recall the brute of a captain that had pulled the boy, Sora, from the stables, and he remembered the rage and injustice. The rest of that day was an endless black hole and as he struggled to recall it as sharp pain throbbed acutely behind his eyes. 

“She is a gifted healer, but even her skills would not have been enough. She had the sense to bring you to me,” Merlin replied standing and hobbling across the room to a large wooden table that was covered in books, scroll, dishes and pots and pans of all various shapes and sizes. There were strange little wooden cages and bunches of dried flowers and herbs, small tumblers of spices turned over on their sides, their contents spilled out onto the table top, and in the corner, standing by the hearth on a tall wooden perch, sat a magnificent white owl. It’s large yellow and black eyes were quiet, yet piercing, and she watched the Gaian with a steady and graceful countenance. 

The old man rummaged amongst his scattered things for a few moments, and returned to his place beside Leon’s bedside clutching a small glass beaker of strangely tinted water. It was the oddest colour of violet, not bright or luminescent, but almost muddied, yet clearly unnatural and with a quick swirl, Merlin held it up to the light of the candle on the bedside table and inspected its quality, before nodding his head in silent agreement. 

“Hn, just so. Here, drink this. Be quick!”

“What is it?” Leon asked, not reaching for it as he eyed the liquid suspiciously. 

“Don’t question, just drink.”

“This is magic?” Leon asked, recognising the subtle art of herbs that even his people had practiced for centuries. 

“Of a sorts,” Merlin confessed, watching as the Gaian took the potion. 

Leon grimaced at the foul taste and handed the beaker back, feeling the curious effects of the alchemy almost instantly. He felt alert within moments, and the dull aches within his body subsided so that within a few moments, he was able to sit himself up and rest back a little easier into the soft pillows. 

“You are a sorcerer,” Leon said, without question. He didn’t need the old man to confirm it, he already knew, but the soft twinkle in Merlin’s liquid gaze left a warm flutter in Leon’s stomach. 

“Some might call me so, yes. In the south, where I am from, they call us wizards,” Merlin raised an eyebrow and scratched idly at his thinning beard, “Quite a terrible name really; one might confuse us with lizards, but, there you have it,” he shrugged.

“But you have magic, like a Gaian,” Leon insisted, feeling a lightness in his heart for the first time since he’d been dragged to this retched land, and without realising it, his hopes were raised in finding a cure for the terrible chasm that had opened up within his soul. Griever had been torn from him, yet maybe there was still a way…

“There are as many forms of magic as there are peoples to wield it, young one,” Merlin replied sternly, the firm line of his lips shifting the whiskers around his mouth “Your kin have a way with the powers of the Lifestream, that is true, yet mine is not formed from the same.”

Leon frowned, that small spark of hope that had kindled itself was snuffed out, and the pain of it could not be touched by the old man’s potion.

“You mean, you are not like us?”

Merlin shook his head: “No, quite different. Yet we are all of the same world, that I can be certain about.”

“How do you come to know this magic?” the young Gaian hadn’t meant to sound so petulant, yet his disappointment could not be contained. 

Merlin sat back in his chair and regarded the young man for a long time. His face was blank and emotionless, hardly a whisper or hint of his inner thoughts crossed his gaze and Leon began to feel unnerved under his weighty stare. 

“The Gaians are a wonderful race, truly. I have travelled many miles to many different lands and still, my heart will always belong to Balamb,” he finally said as he watched Leon’s face shift with longing as he spoke “Your people draw their power from the Lifestream. Your magic is within you, in your very blood,” Merlin leaned forward and tapped a finger against Leon’s chest, indicating where his heart beat steadily and slowly, “It connects you to the earth in ways that, as humans, we cannot even begin to imagine.”

All of this, Leon knew, and the reminder of everything that he’d lost was more painful than he could possibly stand. He frowned and looked away, turning his head to avoid the heavy eyes of the old wizard. 

“But my magic is borrowed,” Merlin continued, sitting back in the rickety chair “At great expense. I can pull it from the Lifestream and wield it only for a short time, before I must return it. There is a price, of course. In all things, even magic, there must be balance. But it serves its purpose.”

Leon had lost interest in the strange man’s explanation and his mind turned to his homeland and the images of the trees and the mountains he had left behind. Merlin’s words had brought them back almost as effortlessly as if he’d woven a spell and Leon felt the need to communicate his longing to the only person in this terrifying place who could understand him.

“I want to go home,” Leon replied, the words bringing a painful mist to his eyes that felt dangerously like tears.

“I’ve no doubt. Your home is a beautiful place to miss, but the king has his designs for the both of us, I fear,” Merlin answered, his gaze turning soft as he watched Leon’s face.

“You are a prisoner here too?” the Gaian asked as he turned his head back at the old wizard’s words.

“After a fashion,” Merlin agreed “The king despises magic users, yet he coverts what he can never possess. You and I are just part of his macabre collection.”

“But you have power… you could escape,” Leon said, confusion colouring his words as he wondered how such a man might be kept against his will.

“It is not only chains that can imprison a person,” Merlin replied cryptically before he tutted loudly and appeared to snap himself from his subtle melancholy, “But this will never do; you should take some rest, while your pain is eased. I have work to be done.”

With a firm but gentle pat on his shoulder, Merlin stood and left Leon to his silent chamber and his heavy thoughts of home and a power long lost to him.

*******

When he awoke again, Leon recognised the comforting tone of Merlin’s voice almost immediately, and he opened his eyes to see the old wizard bent over his scrolls and parchments, humming contentedly to himself as he worked. 

Leon shifted the warm blankets aside and climbed out of bed, wincing with discomfort as he held his bruised ribs and tested his strength on his wobbly legs. His chains rattled as he moved, alerting Merlin to his patient and the old man straightened and turned to watch as the Gaian moved stiffly, the sight almost comical but for its seriousness.

Leon braced himself against the wall and used its cool stone surface to guide him to the wizard where he stopped and peered down at the old man’s work.

“You will be hungry, no doubt,” Merlin remarked as he turned and picked up a tray of cold food from the bench beside his work table. 

A window stood open and Leon could see that it was already nightfall, and that they were high up in the castle’s top most towers; the twinkling lights of the village below blinking in the endless black. Merlin set the tray down in a moderately clean space and indicated for Leon to sit. With some difficulty, the Gaian complied and began eating ravenously, only just beginning to realise how famished he was as he barely stopped to draw breath between bites. 

“Good heavens!” Merlin mumbled and raised an eyebrow as he shook his head, turning back to the strange contraption he had been looking into and he altered the pair of looking glasses on the tip of his nose as he squinted.

The room was quiet and peaceful, with only the sounds of the fire snapping and Leon chewing, when a strange and earie sound drifted in through the window and made Leon pause in his mad scramble for food. He slowed his chewing, his cheeks full of bread and cheese and his brows drawn down in confusion as he cocked his head to the side so as to better hear the music. For it was certainly something melodious that came floating in on the wind, and with a difficult swallow, Leon cleared his mouth and looked to Merlin who appeared completely unaffected. 

“What is that?” the Gaian asked his curiosity getting the better of his hungry belly as he stood and walked to the window.

“Hmm? Oh that! That is Meteor’s Fall,” Merlin replied blithely, waving a hand absently as he reached for a small vial of oil and continued to peer into his contraption. 

“Meteor’s Fall?” Leon’s confusion deepened and the crease between his eyebrows grew darker as he looked over his shoulder at the frustratingly vague wizard “There is no meteor tonight; stars don’t sound like singing.”

Merlin sighed dramatically and turned to regard the curious youth as he leaned further out of the window, looking down at the slanted roofs of the castle keep.  
“Not in the sky, you wretched heathen. Meteor’s Fall is the longest night. We gather to celebrate and give thanks to Holy.”

Leon smirked at the playful insult and pulled his head back into the warmth of the room, losing interest in the delicate voices on the air and remembered his grumbling belly. He returned to the table and began to eat again, turning the wizard’s words over in his head as he chewed. 

“Who is Holy?”

A flash of impatience twitched Merlin’s lips behind his beard as he sighed and straightened his back, giving Leon a side long glace with a baleful eye.  
“Am I to get any work done at all with these questions?”

“But how can a man make the night so long?” Leon replied, ignoring the question with an innocent look. He grinned inwardly as he watched the old man pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

“Holy is not a man. He is a God; the Midgarian’s God, to be precise. On the longest night of the year, he sent down his wife, Jenova, as a blazing Meteor to bring his people light and comfort in the darkest hours, and as a promise of the summer’s return. It is tradition for the people of this land to celebrate and give thanks. They hold it sacred and quite special.”

Merlin gave him a discerning look over the top of his glasses.

“This Holy is no God. I would know of him,” Leon replied with a distasteful curl of his lip and he went back to eating his meal in silence. Merlin raised a feathery white eyebrow and rolled up his sleeves, revealing spindly, lanky wrists and went back to studying his machine:

“There seems to be an awful lot of things you do not know about, young one. Do not be so hasty to decide what you are certain of and what you are not.”

“I know this,” Leon insisted as he mopped up the last of his food and stuffed it into his mouth, chasing it down with a long drink of water “When I was connected to the Lifestream, I could sense the earth. It would have told me of a creator.”

Merlin stood straight again and looked at the young man with a pointed eye.

“When you were connected?” he asked, pushing his glasses further up his nose. 

Leon looked down at his empty plate, his face hidden behind his choppy bangs and he nodded solemnly.

“When they…” he tried to explain, but even just the thought of his Guardian’s death brought a terrible ache to his chest and seized his throat up tight “When Griever died, I could no longer feel it. It was as if the sun had gone out, and I was thrown into blindness. I can’t reach it… the Lifestream is silent, it won’t answer me.”

Merlin took a doddery step forwards, his long hours spent huddled at his work bench crippling his old frame, and he came to stand in front of the Gaian, an odd look in his curious eyes. 

“This is most strange,” he muttered as he took Leon’s face into his hands, lifting the youth’s chin. He peered into his eyes and seemed to search the very depths of them, before he ran his weathered and calloused thumbs under his jaw line and felt the pulse points of his neck “Yes, most peculiar.”

“What is?” Leon asked, his brows furrowing in confusion at the old man’s fussing. 

Merlin stood back and considered the Gaian for a long time, as if weighing his words carefully. Eventually he spoke, his gaze never losing the serious note of perceptive understanding. 

“I must admit, I have never heard of a Gaian losing their Guardian; it was a most barbaric thing to consider, when Bannock’s men brought you here. I had never thought on the implications...”

“Implications?” Leon asked, a touch of fear breathing its way under his skin as he spoke.

“I do not know,” Merlin answered seriously, shaking his head slowly and solemnly “But surely, your injuries are far greater than I had anticipated.”

As Merlin finished speaking the door to his cell creaked open and Aerith breezed through, closing the heavy oak door behind her. She stopped short as her eyes fell upon the two figures at the table, and her surprise turned to a pleased grin.

“You’re awake!”

“By all means, let yourself in,” Merlin grumbled turning back to his experiment and shook his head. 

Leon smiled as Aerith approached him, and he inclined his head in greeting, feeling that warm flood of affection as she put her hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve been asleep for three days, I was worried you’d never come around,” the brunette confessed. The Gaian looked at the wizard for a translation, though for some reason he didn’t know why, he always felt he understood what Aerith was trying to say to him despite not knowing her words. 

“She says you’re lazy,” Merlin told him bluntly.

Leon frowned, sure that had not been the young woman’s meaning and decided he should ignore the cantankerous old man’s comment. He looked up at Aerith and felt the warmth of her kind smile and realised he had missed her while he had been in his sick bed. She was, for all the world, his only friend here in this strange land and she had mended him more than once. She was unlike the caustic people of Midgar, so brash and jagged around the edges that Leon felt as if they cut him even as they walked by. Yet Aerith was different. She was soft and smooth, her heart was warm and open and she held no spite within her. Even without his Gaian magic, Leon could tell that much.

“Thank you,” he said, his words earnest and sincere as he managed the awkward Midgar speech. 

“Whatever for?” Aerith asked, a pleasantly confused look crossing her face, her heart secretly touched.

“Your helping me,” Leon replied, his words choppy and unsure, the phrasing not quite right but his sentiment remained the same. 

Aerith’s face softened further and she smiled warmly. She placed her arm’s carefully around his neck and pulled him to her, holding him securely.

“You’re welcome, Leon,” she replied, kissing the top of his head. 

Leon reached up and slowly wound his own arms around her middle, as far as he was able to with his chains still attached, and closed his eyes as he felt the heat of her skin against his cheek. He hadn’t realised how much he had missed this simple human contact, yet his soul ached for it now and the moment was over far too soon as the young woman pulled away. 

“You’re not attending this evening’s service?” Merlin asked casually, cutting through their pleasant little moment.

“Someone’s got to run this place while they’re all bowing and praying,” Aerith replied with a small huff, standing back with her hands on her hips “The kitchen is a mad house. I’ve only managed to sneak away for a short while; Elmyra will be getting her skirts in a tangle if I’m gone for too much longer.”

“Hmm, well, yes, you can take him with you when you leave,” Merlin commented as he went back to his work.

“Oh Merlin, can he not stay here a while longer?” she pleaded.

Leon looked helplessly between them as they conversed above his head, his expression lost and helpless as he struggled to follow what he could understand.  
“Certainly not! He’s taken up my bed for the last three nights. I’ve slept in that chair for the last time, now take him with you or I shall throw him out!” Merlin replied sternly “My old bones can’t take it.”

Aerith glared at the belligerent old wizard, unfazed by his resolute and defiantly folded arms and after a few moments of tense silence, Leon spoke up:

“I’m… to go back… with the horses?” he asked, unsure if he had understood the argument.

Aerith’s temperament softened and she glanced down at the Gaian with a sorrowful look.

“I’m sorry Leon, but Reeve won’t allow it,” she shook her head and Leon looked away in understanding “I’m running out of places to put him, Merlin. The other servant’s won’t have him in the cells and after the incident with Sora he’s lost his bed in the hay loft. Elmyra will go spare if I take him back to the kitchens. I don’t know what to do!”

“You can hardly expect me to keep him here; these poxy rooms are barely big enough for one of me!” Merlin argued, throwing his arms wide to demonstrate.

“Well maybe if you tided up a bit,” Aerith knocked a small stack of books over for emphasis, sending the snowy white owl into a feathery flutter.

“You leave my things alone!” the old wizard blustered, his pale cheeks turning red with indignant rage. 

“Fine then, come on Leon!” Aerith barked, tugging on the Gaian’s sleeve as she turned around and stormed towards the door.

Leon rose to his feet in an urgent shuffle and quickly followed the young woman, looking over his shoulder once before he closed the door behind him to throw a small “Thank you” towards the bristling old man.

“Yes, yes, yes. Be off with you.” Merlin replied, flapping his hands as he brushed the two youngsters out of his rooms and peace descended on the wizard once again. 

*******

Aerith muttered and cursed her way back down the long winding servant’s passageway back towards the kitchens, stopping every now and again to let Leon catch up with her, mindful of his recent injuries and shortened stride thanks to his chains. 

“I’ve one last place I can think of, but it’s a long shot, Leon. I don’t know if it’ll work.” She told him as they came to a stop outside one of the doors that led to the enormous kitchen. The passageway was seldom used, and Aerith cracked the door open an inch to peer into the bustling room, scanning the busy hustle for any sight of Elmyra. 

Leon waited patiently, craning his neck to try and look past her, yet all he could make out was the sound of shouting and loud, heavy work being done. Jumping back quickly as Aerith turned and signalled over her shoulder, Leon followed her through the door and into the heat of the kitchens. She grabbed his wrist and sped him up, keeping him bundled as close to the wall as the storage shelves could allow and they wove in between bodies with graceful precision. Halfway across the room they turned back on themselves abruptly and climbed a short flight of stairs and darted into a passageway behind a smaller, thick wooden door.

Out of the kitchen and out of Elmyra’s domain, Aerith breathed a sigh of relief and pulled the door to. She looked up the passageway and Leon followed her gaze; the steep staircase wound and curled upwards and out of sight and with a quick jerk of her head, Aerith motioned for him to follow her once again:

“Come on, it’s not too far now.”

They climbed the staircase for what felt like forever, eventually coming to a stop by an alcove on a small landing. There was a spare, tatty blanket rolled up in the corner and with an embarrassed look, Aerith reached down and shook it out. 

“The baker’s boy used to sleep here when he wanted out of the kitchen sometimes. It’s far enough away that El won’t find you, and I’ve a plan for what you’ll do for work. I just need a little more time.” She explained, handing Leon the pathetic excuse for a cover. 

Leon looked at her blankly, unable to comprehend her chatter but understood well enough that his days of sleeping in a comfortable bed were well and truly over. He reached out and took the blanket and looked at the space which was no better than a recess in the wall with a forlorn expression.

“I’ll find you some better bedding, I promise.” Aerith said, feeling guilt and sorrow flood her chest as she watched the Gaian take in his new surroundings. There was not even a window to see the sky, and Aerith understood all at once that even the hay loft above the horse’s stables had been a better solution than this stone prison. 

“I’m so sorry, Leon. But it’s all I can think of for now.”

As usual, the Gaian seemed to understand her tone and he nodded his head, resigning himself to the chill of the flagstone and the ache in his bones from the hard floor. 

“I have to get back to the kitchens; I’ve been gone too long already. Prayers will be finishing now and the Great Hall will be filling up. But I’ll be back later tonight.” She promised, leaving him with a quick hug and a reassuring smile that barely seemed to affect him at all as he sat himself on the ledge and draped the threadbare throw across his knees. 

*******

Leon was curled up in the small alcove, his head bundled on his bent arm and his knees drawn up to his stomach when Aerith returned some hours later. It wasn’t late enough to sleep, yet Leon had been at a loss as to what else to do, other than to lie and wait. He sat himself up with a wince as she came puffing up the steps, a large tray in her hands and she stopped to catch her breath on the small landing. 

“Holy Fire is it busy down there. Here, take this will you?” she gasped as Leon stood and took the heavy tray laden with food and a tall pitcher of watered wine from her. 

The brunette braced her hands on her hips and waited to catch her breath before smiling up at the Gaian.

“I’m run off my feet, I need you to do me a favour,” she eventually managed, wiping at the fine sheen of sweat that stood out on her forehead “Take this up to Lord Strife’s rooms. Leave it on the table and stoke the fire; don’t let it burn out!” she warmed holding up a finger in warning “And then come straight back down here.”

Leon followed the line of her finger and gazed up the long flight of stairs, wondering at what could be at the top of them, but understood the words ‘table’ and ‘fire’ and knew it must be a room of some kind. 

“I’ll have another job for you when you return, so don’t linger,” she warned as she turned and made her way back down the stars. Leon watched her go, a little puzzled with her frantic chattering and wanted desperately to be able to clarify what it was he must do as he looked down helplessly at the tray of food in his hands. With a small, annoyed frown and a little huff of exasperation, he made his way carefully up the stairs. 

Finally, as he reached the top, a little out of breath, he came to a stop in front of an opening covered with a large drape. Awkwardly he nudged it aside with his elbow and ducked underneath, slipping into a warm and modest room filled with soft furnishings and comforting firelight. It was empty, but it did not seem mournful for the loss. Instead it felt homely, the wall hangings softening the harsh edges of the castle walls and the throws and fur rugs seemed inviting rather than grandiose. Adjacent from the stone hearth was a large window, and underneath it was a small desk laden with papers and books, many scrolls and a pot full of feathers for writing. To the left of it a large bed, its frame solid and wooden and the beams around it supporting soft and delicate drapes occupied most of the space, and in front of the large and cheerful fire, sat two chairs; a small serving table between them. Leon placed the tray down there, flexing his aching hands now that they were free of the weight and he looked around himself with mild fascination, enjoying the warmth of the room and the subtle effect it had upon him. It was calm here, peaceful almost, and Leon closed his eyes for a moment to soak in the tranquillity.

The moments drifted by and he felt himself sway, his head spinning slightly with fatigue and a dull pain and he opened his eyes to the soft snapping of the fire and remembered Aerith’s instructions. Shuffling to the wood pile stacked up neatly by the side of the hearth, Leon built the flames a little higher, crouching down low to stack the logs as carefully as he could. Squatting there, he held his hands out and soaked up the heat, knowing the brief reprieve couldn’t last and that he would be confined to the cold, draughty stairwell once again.

He watched the flames dance and didn’t hear the door to the chamber open and close behind him, too immersed in the flickering images and the comforting warmth and he jolted with surprise and then jumped to his feet quickly as a deep and even voice called out across the room:

“What are you doing here?”

Leon stood to his full height and shuffled backwards slightly, wrapping his arms around his middle as he slid against the wall, putting a little more distance between himself and the blonde captain. He recognised him almost immediately; the same man whose horse had died from the foraging sickness, and Leon connected the sense of calm and careful ease that filled the room with the steady and considered gaze that stared at him now. He lowered his head, staring back at the man with dark and cautious eyes, a flash of danger and wariness flittering across his face.

The blond man looked neither pleased nor angry, and Leon found he was troubled by his inability to read even his surface emotions. The captain’s face was blank and utterly emotionless, and he continued to stare at the Gaian, waiting for an answer. 

“Cloud, you’re back!”

Both men turned to see Aerith stood in the servant’s entrance, framed by the long drapes that covered it, a small and pleased smile warming her face as she stepped into the rooms. Her presence seemed to break the tension a little, and Leon shuffled away from the wall and inch closer to her. 

“What’s he doing here, Aerith?” Cloud asked as he nodded at her in greeting, peeling his gloves off slowly.

“He’s helping me,” the young woman replied, reaching for Cloud’s cloak as he removed it and snatched it out of his hand before he could drop it onto the floor.

The captain eyed the Gaian sceptically with a raised brow.

“He looks terrible; what happened to him?”

“Bannock,” Aerith replied simply, folding the long lengths of material over her arm.

The hard edge to Cloud’s stare seemed to soften a little and the tight lines around his mouth eased as he watched the prisoner shift on his feet, that wary, observant look in the Gaian eyes never wavering as he watched them talk.

“Will he be helping you for long?”

Aerith sighed and folded the cloak over the back of one of the chairs facing the fire, running her fingers through the fur at the collar, “Reeve won’t have him back in the stables; says he’s too much of a liability. I… I was hoping you wouldn’t mind… I know you’re hardly ever here, but I thought that maybe-”

“If this is going where I think its going, Aerith, then you can hold your tongue,” Cloud interrupted her, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at her in defiance. 

Aerith turned, her eyes large and imploring and for a moment a painful knot twisted in Cloud’s chest. 

“Please, Cloud. I’ve nowhere else for him to go. The other’s hate him, I can’t take him back to the kitchens, please… please don’t be like everyone else. He’s just a boy!” her desperation had turned to frustrated tears somewhere along the way and her gaze shimmered with them as they sat on her lash line, threatening to fall “He’s done nothing to hurt anyone.”

Cloud attempted to hold onto his unwavering determination, but her distraught face eroded it quickly. Lifting a hand to run it through his unruly blond hair, he sighed deeply and let his shoulders sag. 

“Please, Cloud. He’s not what everyone says he is… he saved Sora,” Aerith pushed a little harder, sensing the captain’s defences weakening.

“From what?” Cloud asked, his brows creasing in concern at the boy’s name.

“From Bannock,” Aerith explained, seeing the pieces of the puzzle slide into place as Cloud looked at the Gaian again and took in his battered face “He’s no more a danger to anyone than I am, he doesn’t know why he’s here and everyone has been so terrible to him. Please...” 

Aerith had always known Cloud was apart from everyone else. It was why she had grown so fond of him. Behind his quiet and careful expression was a man who thought and it made him different from the rest. She had hoped so desperately that she might appeal to that side of him that she couldn’t bear the thought of him disappointing her with the same hostile and intolerant beliefs as everyone else and for a moment she truly thought he would.

“Alright,” Cloud finally replied, his voice soft and gentle as he looked at her with guilty eyes from under tousled bangs “But I don’t want him to take your place completely,” he clarified as he watched Aerith’s face light up with relief and gratitude. The knot in his chest loosened and he fought back a small smile as Aerith charged into his arms and hug on tightly around his neck. 

“Oh thank you, Cloud. And I promise he won’t get in the way. I’ll teach him everything and it’ll be like he’s not even here.”

Cloud put his hands on her waist and pushed her to arm’s length, feeling his cheeks blush slightly at the young woman’s affection. 

“Just… keep him occupied,” he said, eyeing the prisoner over her shoulder and noticed the hardness had dissolved from the Gaian’s gaze as he’d watched Aerith. With the tension in the room dissipated for the moment, the young woman nodded eagerly and wiped at her drying eyes.

“He won’t be any trouble, I promise,” she implored, straightening her apron as Cloud took a step back.

“Not with those things on,” Cloud nodded towards the Gaian and Leon frowned, looking down at himself self-consciously, knowing he was being talked about but unable to share in the conversation “Why the chains?”

Aerith looked behind her and her gaze softened further, taking in the sad and rather pitiful sight of the young man, beaten and shackled. 

“He tried to run,” she offered, remembering the terrible result of his ill-fated escape attempt not long after he’d been deposited in the kitchens with her “Made it as far as the aqueduct before they brought him back. I had to put him back together that time too.”

“I’m not stupid,” Leon spoke, his frown deep and his gaze offended and hurt as he looked between the two people.

Cloud’s brows rose into his hairline at hearing the Gaian speak, surprised at his deep voice and oddly melodious tone.

“I know you talk… about me,” Leon’s fists clenched by his sides and he tried to straighten his shoulders, attempting to look indignant whilst still unsure he had used the right words.

“Not bad things, Leon, I promise. Cloud just wants to know a bit about you,” Aerith offered, gathering up the basket of laundry by the foot of the bed and settled it on her hip “You’ll be working here now, taking care of Cloud’s rooms.”

The offended and hostile look in the Gaian’s eyes faded, replaced with uncertainty and confusion and his gaze flickered between Aerith and the blond captain, his mind more than assured that something had been decided for him, yet he had no notion of what it was. 

“What… should I do now?” he asked, feeling unnerved at the blond man’s uncomfortable stare. He wanted to leave, but was uncertain where he was allowed to go. The small modicum of routine and balance he’d achieved since being taken prisoner had been swept out from under his feet, and he was finding himself adrift once again in the confusing and terrifying world of the castle. This new man, who appeared neither friendly nor hostile, was an unknown entity. Leon couldn’t read him, and it alarmed him greatly. 

“Nothing. You’re done for the night. Get some rest,” Cloud replied, suddenly wishing himself alone. 

Aerith took the hint and motioned for Leon to follow her out of the rooms, pulling back the drapes that covered the entrance to the service passageway and waited for Leon to disappear through them. 

“Thank you, Cloud. I really mean it,” Aerith said as she watched the captain seat himself by the fire and help himself to the tray of food. He looked at her fondly, and try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to scowl despite his misgivings. 

“Goodnight, Aerith,” he said instead. 

The brunette let the drapes fall closed behind her and rushed to catch up with Leon as he ambled down the staircase, in no hurry to get back to his paltry bed and as they came to a stop on the small landing that was, for all its worth, now Leon’s room. The Gaian saw that the young woman had deposited warmer blankets and even a pillow into his little alcove. 

He turned to look at her as she caught up with him and despite his sullen mood, he couldn’t be unkind to her.

“For me?” he asked, just to be sure and smiled warmly as Aerith nodded “Thank you.”

“Listen, Leon, I need to say something,” the young brunette said as she took his arm gently and turned him to face her properly. Her expression was serious again, and her eyes held a note of caution and worry “Please, I know you can’t help it; the people here, their hatred makes it difficult, but please don’t ruin this. Try to get along with Cloud; he’s a good man. If he throws you out you will have nowhere else to go, do you understand me?”

Despite her many confusing words that he still couldn’t comprehend, Leon thought that he did; her meaning was crystal clear in the tight lines of her mouth and the dark shadows under her eyes. And although Leon had been on dangerous ground ever since he’d arrived at Avalanche, he understood that now more than ever, something about his presence here held the key that could unleash a storm: a never ending rain that would last a century. 

“I’m dangerous,” he agreed, not knowing why he was, but knowing it all the same. 

“Here is dangerous,” Aerith clarified, feeling her heart break a little “Here is dangerous for you.”

Leon took a moment to process her words and although he couldn’t disagree with her, it wasn’t quite what he had meant.

“No, the king… he wants… something… from me. I don’t know,” he tried to explain, remembering Merlin’s words about Shinra and his desire for a thing he could never possess. The statement had left him confused and angry; the king had already taken Griever – his soul – he didn’t understand what more he could possibly want from him, yet he couldn’t explain why he was still here, being kept alive and in misery. 

“The king is a cruel man, Leon. He may not want anything more from you than to see you suffer.”

All their talk was hurting his head and Leon pinched his brows together and looked away, closing his eyes against the grit that burned them. He didn’t reply and instead picked up his new blankets and arranged himself as comfortably as he possibly could in the little alcove, turning his shoulder away from Aerith as she stood watching him forlornly. 

“Goodnight, Leon,” she eventually said, leaving him to sleep as she made her way back down to the kitchens.


	7. Chapter 7

A bird swooped and screeched as it pulled its wings in and dove through the up draughts created by the high ridge. It caught sight of the vast, glistening white wasteland of the planes on the far side of the mountains before it disappeared into the dappled green light of the valley below it, and sped across spring time tree tops, flapping its wings as it came to rest in the high branches of a sycamore tree and bellowed a squawk in greeting. 

A few branches below, a young girl opened her eyes a fraction and squinted lazily up at the sky, her gaze sliding to rest upon the hawk. Selphie closed her eyes and relaxed back against the branch she was resting on and opened her mind:

You’re back.

I am.

What did you find?

The humans on the southern boarders have made camp. A few I saw disband and sneak into the woods where I followed and discovered their plan.

Their plan?

To infiltrate our defences in smaller numbers. 

How many days ago was this? Selphie asked, a note of urgency in her mind as she sat up and looked at the bird.

Two. I circled back to the boarders; the rest of the army still resides there, the bird replied.

Selphie sat herself forward and let her legs dangle either side of the branch she was now astride. With a frown, she looked down towards the ground far below and tried to count in her head.

That gives us two days to get to Winhill before they reach the foothills and our scouts, the girl said after a few moments of silence We will have to run fast.  
You will have to run fast. I will fly, the bird reminded her, an edge of wry humour in his mind as he squawked and ruffled his chest feathers. 

Selphie reached for her bow and quiver, sat resting against the main trunk of the tree, and shouldered them both. Throwing her leg over the branch in one swift, skilful movement she slipped from the branch down onto the next, landing with a small bend of her knee. Turning inwards towards the trunk, she grasped a hold and swung herself round, dropping down several feet, controlling her fall with delicate touches to the branches on her left and right as she descended. Eventually she came to a stop on the lowest branch of the tree and crouched down, fiddling with the straps and ties of her quiver as she scanned the forest floor for any movement. 

The foliage was dense and growing thicker as the spring drew on, and through the dried and rotting mulch leaf that scattered the forest floor, Selphie could make out no movement other than that of a deer, three hundred yards to the south.

Clutching tight to the branch beneath her, she swung down and gracefully came to rest on the balls of her feet, deep within the Balamb forest.

I will go on ahead and clear the way for you, the hawk spoke in her mind, now too far up and obscured by branches and foliage to be seen.

And I will see you at Winhill, Selphie replied, nodding her head as she felt the presence of her Guardian grow a little fainter as he took to the sky. 

The forest floor was dark and mist laden; soft tendrils of vapour clung to the underbrush and the tall weeds that poked out of the hazel thicket. The suns morning light had not yet grown strong enough to chase away the gloom that still settled over the hollows of the trees and the dimness obscured the middle distance; bird song was bright and Selphie felt the woods come to life around her as she stood and breathed in the damp and rich smelling air. Moisture clung to the ends of her braids and her beads, and glistened off the bone trinkets woven into her light tan leathers. 

With a quick foot behind her, Selphie braced herself, crouching low before taking off north, swiftly following the pull of her guardian as he flew ahead. She rushed over fallen trees and leaped through thick, unbroken underbrush as she cut her way through the forest in as straight a line as she could manage. 

For a day and a half Selphie ran in this way, stopping only for a short while once the sun had disappeared and once again when it awoke, until she came to a valley named Winhill. Along its length, nestled in the protective ravine was a settlement made up of twenty small, squat dwellings. The greatest sat atop an outcrop in the cliff side, and inside it Selphie could feel Matron’s presence. This place had been home to her kin for the last forty years, and shortly it would be their time to move on again and Selphie felt an ache in her centre at the thought. It was as if she were leaving something behind and her mind turned immediately to Squall. 

I know it’s not right to keep thinking this way, but what if he’s alive? A few moments of silence filled her inner eye as she waited.

I saw Griever’s head burn. There can be no other conclusion: Squall is dead, the hawk replied, choosing his words carefully as he felt Selphie’s mind prod him for comfort and reassurance. 

I know, but I keep feeling like…

Like what, child?

…Like he’s pulling me back, Selphie replied shaking her head as even now she struggled to make sense of it, Like he’s calling me, even though I can’t hear his voice in the Lifestream.

You will never hear his voice in the Lifestream, on this plane or the other, if he died severed from his Guardian, the bird replied, coiling round on the wind to circle above her head as she strode across the clearing and entered the village. You know that once you are torn from your Guardians your life is forfeit. Nothing remains of Squall or Griever; they are both dead.

Even as Selphie heard the words in her head, she felt the soothing warmth of her Guardian in her chest. It was not enough to soften the sting completely, but Selphie was comforted. It was a terrible fate. Every Gaian lived in fear of it. The notion of death was so distant and so alien to Selphie and every one of her kind that it almost seemed an impossibility. Yet her kin’s capture and demise had sent a shock wave through her lands so powerful she could feel it in the very earth. To be so connected to every living thing, so in tune and so alive… only to be reduced to nothing; not even a voice on the wind. 

Selphie shook her head and strode through the small village and stopped outside the dwelling on the outcrop. Now that she was closer, Selphie emptied her mind and sought out Edea's presence.

"Matron, I’ve news from the boarders," she called.

She waited for the darkness in her mind to form the shape of her Matron and then looked up to see a tall woman had emerged from the hut on the cliff.

Edea’s shoulders were covered in heavy furs that cloaked her against the cold, and long stings of beads covered her naked breasts. Her leathers were soft and light tan and atop her tall staff of polished oak sat a great mottled owl with large frilled eyebrows. 

“What news?” she asked her voice carrying clear and strong across the valley floor. 

“Soldiers attack the southern boarders and create a diversion for a splinter group. They are hidden in the woods aimed for our scouts in the foothills.”

“You saw this?” Edea asked, turning to climb down the steep stone steps hewn into the rock.

“We did,” Selphie reached up to scratch the top of her Guardians head and sent a warm pulse of thanks.

“Who else guards the mountains?” Edea asked, coming to stand before the small girl. Edea was large and imposing and her thick, oil black hair was braided back into strong lines; the pouches that carried her powders and bones rattled at her hip beside her dagger as she walked. 

“Quistis and Namine are posted on patrol. You sent Irvine, Seifer and Ellone into Midgar to scout along the foothills,” Selphie reminded her and then thought of Squall again. 

Edea looked away over the girls shoulder and narrowed her golden eyes in thought. Her face was ageless yet she carried the weight of her many years across her shoulders as she stood there. 

“They will not survive across the mountains alone. You will gather more Gaian’s and support them. Pull them back across the border and seal the Tomb of the Unknown King. Without that passage, Midgar cannot hope to penetrate our lands. But be sure not to leave any of our people to their fate on the other side, or they will never return home.”

“Yes Matron,” Selphie bowed her head and turned to leave, ready to run out again and race back towards the mountains and the patrol post where Namine waited. 

“Take some rest first, child,” Edea called smiling a little as she nodded her head towards the young gir’s hut. Selphie had not seen the inside of it in a long time and she welcomed the idea of soft furs to lie on.

“I’ll set off again at first light,” she promised, crossing the centre of the village where the well was, and pulled back the thick leather drape that covered the doorway. 

Edea watched her disappear.

 

We must gather the others, she spoke urgently, even her thoughts rushed with a sudden shot of fear. 

You feel it also? The owl replied, her voice like mist in Edea’s mind.

Yes… rain is about to break.

*******

Leon stoked the fire a little higher and stood with an aching wince. Barely letting it ripple across his face, he turned to watch his new master who was sat in the large, wing backed chair studying the board and its pieces on the table in front of him. 

“Is this all?” Leon asked in monotone, motioning to the fire and wondered if there was anything he’d left undone.

Cloud looked up at him, a slight confused frown marring his features as he registered the Gaian’s question.

“Huh, oh no, thank you, Leon.” He replied, idly waving him off as he returned to his game, “Wait, have these delivered to the barracks. They are for Barret’s eyes only, you know Barret?” Cloud asked as he pulled a stack of papers from inside his jerkin and handed them to the brunet, “Big man, one arm?” Cloud continued, unconvinced by Leon’s smooth and neutral face, “Just… just give them to Aerith, she’ll see it done.”

“I am learning your words, I know what you say,” Leon replied, his tone clipped as he frowned down at the captain and folded the letters inside his own thin doublet. His anger seemed to amuse the blond as he smiled vaguely up at him, before Cloud turned back to his game. 

The small twitch of his lips seemed to rile Leon’s dower mood and with a flippant hand, he gestured towards the board and its elaborately carved pieces.

“What are you playing?” he asked, his voice edged with impatience. 

Cloud looked between the Gaian and the board, his left hand worrying his bottom lip as he thought and considered the wild youth.

“It’s called chess,” he finally replied, lowering his hands to his lap. He had been staring at the impossible dilemma on the board for well over an hour now, and his temples were beginning to ache with soft, dull thumps.

“Who do you playing with?” Leon asked, glancing to the empty chair opposite with a raised brow.

Cloud reached into his pocket and pulled out a small scrap of paper, carefully coiled to fit a bird’s leg, and he held it out for Leon to take; the Gaian only stood there, watching it as if it would bite.

“I don’t read,” he finally answered.

Cloud frowned and hesitated, lowering his offering slowly as he awkwardly stumbled over his words. 

“It’s… it’s from a friend in the north, from my home town: Nibelheim. She sends me her moves by bird, and I send mine back. We’ve been playing in this way for years,” Cloud explained his voice soft and considered as he spoke in the quiet of his chambers; only the crackle of the fire intruded onto the room.

“You play this way with everybody?” Leon asked both brows disappearing into his hairline. The idea of a game played with birds was a baffling notion and he marvelled at the blond’s patience; how long it must take them to finish a game, he thought. 

“No, just Tifa,” Cloud chuckled “Though she may have beaten me once again.”

“Tifa is your wife?” Leon asked.

“No… just a friend,” Cloud corrected him quickly, that amused little smile fading into something unreadable. 

“Where is she, your wife?” Leon asked, looking about the chamber for any signs of a woman’s presence. He could feel nothing feminine in the confines of the room and he looked back at Cloud to see his face was still shadowed by those curious shades of emotion. 

“… I don’t have one.”

“Why not?” 

Cloud looked up at the prisoner and levelled him with a closed and chilly stare. 

“Just make sure you give those to Barret,” he said instead, turning back to his game, “Goodnight, Leon.”

“Men here have wives. In my home we choose a mate also. Why not you?” Leon pressed, pointedly ignoring the captain’s curt dismissal. He watched, unfazed, as Cloud glared at him and shuffled slightly, uncomfortable in his chair.

“I’m beginning to see why Aerith has had such trouble with you,” Cloud spoke after a while, the short flare of annoyance he’d felt at the prisoner’s bold tone only tempered when he saw the confused and slightly insulted look cross Leon’s face. It made him look like a confused puppy, head cocked to one side as he tried to decipher his meaning. 

“I’m not trouble,” Leon spoke, almost affronted.

“Oh yes you are.”

“Then you should let me go. What can I do here?” it was the most Cloud had ever heard the Gaian speak and even as he sat there, amused with the brunet’s tenacity and fire despite his situation, he recalled the king’s desires. How little this youth seemed to be aware of the world around him, and his place within it.  
“You’re more important than you realise,” Cloud chose his words carefully and watched Leon’s reaction closely.

The Gaian scoffed and looked away, brows drawn down low and it looked to the captain as if he were sulking. 

“What your people want from me… I won’t do it. I’m never betraying my homeland,” Leon crossed his arms over his chest and stood defiantly, if a little petulant, and glared down at Cloud, their eyes meeting in a blaze of determination and subtle amusement. 

“You may not have a choice,” Cloud replied, the truth of those words bothering him more than a little.

The fire in Leon’s eyes dimmed slightly as his gaze slid to the chess board; the largest black piece hemmed into one corner square by several white figures. It was clearly trapped – its options for defence limited – and Leon’s frown returned as he ground his teeth down and clenched his jaw. He stepped forwards, making Cloud inch back slightly as he watched the Gaian lift his shackled hand and move his Queen, placing it in a diagonal attack against Tifa’s rook. The captain looked up at Leon, and then back down at his game, the seconds slipping by before he realised the prisoner had placed his long distant opponent in check mate.

“There is always choice,” Leon spoke, his tone soft yet poignant. 

Cloud sat in quiet, stunned silence, his eyes boring into the chess board as he considered all the moves and concluded that he had indeed won the game. He was so stupefied by the simple solution that he almost missed the sound of Leon’s tempered steps as he made his way to the servant’s entrance by the fireplace. He was about to call out, when the prisoner let the curtain fall behind him and he disappeared behind it, leaving Cloud alone in his chambers once again.

******* 

The council chamber of Hollow Bastian was small and dank compared to the tall vaulted ceilings and high windows of Avalanche. Its corners were filled with shadows and cobwebs, and a pale grey light broke through the chilly air and the insipid flicker of the candles created a false midday sun. 

Angeal laced his fingers together on the table in front of him and levelled the Baron with an unwavering stare. 

“You understand that this order comes from the king?” he asked and watched how the humour flickered in Ansem’s eyes as he stared back “There is no question of obedience, you must do as you’re commanded.”

“I have more men at arms than The Five put together. I’m not afraid to disappoint Shinra.”

Angeal shifted in his chair and clenched his jaw. The silence dragged on and after a time of weighing the Baron’s threat, Angeal scoffed “If your strength is so great, then why have you not yet challenged him?” this meeting had gone on long enough and the captain was growing board of Ansem’s flippancy. 

Ansem did smile then, his slender face becoming more angular with the expression until he resembled a wild and cunning animal. 

“For the same reason your king sends you here.”

“He’s your king also, Ansem, do not forget that,” Angeal snapped before the Baron’s meaning sank in and he quickly recovered himself, “You speak of the Gaians?”

Ansem inclined his head, never taking his eyes from the burly man. “The Gaians have been a threat to Shinra ever since he pressed his kingdom towards the mountains. Should the thought ever enter their peaceful heads, one attack from Balamb could wipe out an entire kingdom. Why should I seek to inherit such a legacy? If I were a smart man I would let Shinra destroy them for me, and look to take his crown in a more peaceful and prosperous time.”

“You speak of treason so plainly,” Angeal was almost speechless. He had known these negotiations would be hard, yet it had never crossed his mind that Ansem would grow so bold.

“It’s a foolish man who thinks to keep secrets from Shinra. I would have him know my intentions.”

“Then you will not gather the others and come to Avalanche?” Angeal felt his heart grow heavy with failure, yet it was cold with the knowledge of heresy. Ansem was a fool. He couldn’t possibly hope to accomplish his plans. Nobody had a force greater than the king’s Five and Angeal refused to believe the whispers; the quiet words behind subtle hands that were spoken about a black and terrible army residing within The Bastian City. 

“I will come, and I will call the others. If I’m to prevail against the force of our Gaian enemy, I must witness it for myself,” Ansem took a sip from his wine glass and enjoyed the fleeting look of surprise on Angeal’s face. 

“I will report everything I’ve seen and heard to the king, Ansem. Are you not concerned about what I have to tell him?”

“King Shinra is the very least of my concerns, captain. I am interested only in the war he intends to start.”

“Word of war has reached you already?” this time, Angeal did nothing to school his features and he let his surprise show.

“Shinra is always at war. It is how he has survived as king. Those of us who have known him the longest have prepared for this moment. We have our own defences against such tyranny,” The flames from the candles in the middle of the table flickered in a draft, and the gloomy shadows that surrounded Ansem seemed to deepen and grow before they receded again and the room was as before. 

“You speak of an army greater than The Five,” Angeal murmured, his voice husky as it tightened a little with dread “There is no such army.”

“Such a shame your king decided to settle in the north,” Ansem said as he dabbed his finger into a spilt droplet of wine and smeared it into the table “there is so much ignorance there.”

“Surely you don’t expect me to believe this nonsense. We have your census; we know how many men at arms you have. If this army you speak of is so great, where do the men come from?”

“Your king is a shrewd and unscrupulous man, captain. Despite his campaign of hatred and violence towards magic wielders, he has found a place in his new world for those who are the most useful to him. I have grown board of being useful.”

Angeal sat back in his chair and felt his mouth turn sour. His leather clag fingers wiped at his dry lips. “You would use sorcery?”

Ansem didn’t answer, but smiled again.

“Then you are no better that the barbarians from the north,” Angeal snarled, hoping his insult would wipe the detestable smirk from the baron’s face. It did not. Ansem’s smile only grew until he cut his gaze away to inspect his long and bony fingers.

“No better, perhaps. But stronger, I guarantee it.”

“This is madness, Ansem,” Angeal warned, slightly breathless as he swallowed thickly. He itched to reach for his sword, but he had given it over at the gate as soon as he had entered the Bastion City and he would not see it again until he left. Without it he felt defenceless, as if its very presence could shield and protect him from the treason that filled the castle. 

The Baron’s smile faded at Angeal’s words and finally he began to look annoyed.

“It would surprise you to know how often madness is mistaken for more admirable qualities, Angeal. But I am a busy man, if there is nothing else I may help you with, I must insist that I retire.”

Angeal narrowed his eyes and shook his head. 

“No, you have done enough.”

Ansem withdrew without another word and walked the long draughty corridors back to his chamber. Inside, the curtains that obscured what was left of the afternoon sun were pulled closed, enveloping the room in deep shadows cut through with firelight as his hearth glowed warm. 

Reaching inside his long, brocaded robe, Ansem’s gnarled fingers close around a small shard of crystal, attached to a chain around his neck. It felt ice cold and almost weightless in his palm and as he pulled it out, it gave off an opal soft glow. Walking over soft, plush carpets of fur and woven wool, Ansem came to a stop beside a basin sat atop an intricately carved stand. The basin was filled with a strange fluid, its consistency like oil yet it was coloured silver and Ansem’s narrow face and white hair were reflected back in its surface perfectly. 

Carefully, with reverence, Ansem removed the pendant from around his neck and held it out above the basin. He cut his finger with it, the sharp edge of the crystal cutting into his flesh with ease and like a rising tear, the droplet of blood spilled into the silvery liquid and dispersed like an opening flower.  
The crystal vibrated and began to sway on the end of its chain, and Ansem held it out above the liquid as he watched it spin, slowly at first and then with more vigour. Eventually it stopped and all of a sudden it was pulled tight, as if a weight pulled it down towards the basin and as Ansem peered into the bowl he saw three faces staring back at him. 

“Shinra calls,” Ansem said, the light from the crystal casting shadows under his eyes.

“And how have you answered?” one of the faces replied. He wore an eyepatch and his ageing features were cut in two by a scar that ran along his left cheek and under his chin and his eyes were a strange amber colour that seemed to glow in the oily liquid.

“We will serve,” Ansem let the barest hints of a smile play with his lips before he grew serious once again “You have two full moons to prepare before the king expects us at Avalanche.”

All three faces changed subtly, the eerie glow from the water casting ripples across their features and one by one they faded until the water was still again and the crystal began to sway back and forth, the invisible weight that had held it in place dissolved, and Ansem stepped back from the basin and placed the necklace over his head and tucked it into his robes. 

He pressed his thumb against his bleeding finger and watched as the cut healed, only the sticky residue of his tacky blood left on his skin and with a satisfied nod, he turned away from the basin and left his chambers, heading down towards the bowels of his castle.

*******

Seifer watched his breath fog in the cold night, and briefly caught glimpses of the great carpet of stars above them as the trees danced in the bitter wind. It was unnatural, this long winter, and Seifer felt the plague that had infected the lands like a physical sickness. It hurt his head and made his heart ache, yet he could not pinpoint the source of his discomfort. All he felt was the wrongness in the earth and the bitter taste of poison on the wind.

Ifrit sensed it too, and the Guardian snorted a great breath into the air and stretched his large paws out in front of him. The giant bear was an invisible shadow in the mouth of the cave, only Seifer could see him in his mind’s eye and the Gaian lifted a hand to scratch behind the bear’s fluffy ears. 

I grow board of the cold, he spoke in Seifer’s mind, his tone clearly irritated. 

So do I. But we must wait until Matron calls us home.

Surely she does not think we can hold back this tide for much longer? Ifrit grumbled, crossing his paws under his chin. He continued to stare out into the darkness of the forest, and caught whiffs of animals that foraged in the night. 

I do not pretend to know Matron’s mind. But she will not let us perish out here, Seifer replied, knowing that his guardian would have sensed his hesitance.  
Ifrit chose not to comment and instead closed his eyes, feigning sleep. Heaving a tired sigh, Seifer stood and entered the cave, leaving Ifrit to keep watch, and soon came upon his companions sat around a small fire. Ellone looked up as he approached and held out a cup of warm tea. 

“How long do you think it’ll be?” she asked as Seifer settled himself down and gripped the warm drink tightly.

“Ifrit was asking the same question,” he replied, shaking his head, “I don’t know. But our last attack saw heavy losses. Half of the Dollet people that came to fight were lost and the rest disbanded. I presume they turned towards home. It’s only by luck that the Midgar people think we are still holding this forest with an army. Should they look any closer, they will find only those few of us left to scout. I do not think Matron will leave us here for when that happens.”

“Should we not head back then?” Irvine spoke, his guardian sleeping quietly next to him. Siren’s ears twitched and then settled as her Gaian gently petted her, and the leopard curled a little tighter against Irvine’s thigh. 

“No,” Seifer shook his head, “Not until Matron calls us. She may have a use for us that we have not yet seen.”

“What possible use can we be here, just us three; we saw what we came to see,” Ellone replied mournfully, her eyes turning deep with memory, “We saw Griever’s head burn.”

Seifer reached out and placed his hand on her knee squeezing slightly in comfort as he watched her head drop into her hands. He let her weep quietly for a moment and understood her pain, at least in part. It was a terrible thing to lose a Gaian, and Squall’s death and been felt by every member of their group. But Ellone was blood kin, and the loss of her brother was beyond painful.

“Nevertheless, we still have a duty, Ellone,” Seifer reminded her as her tears dried and her sniffles ceased. 

“Could we perhaps not move closer to the Tomb? We will be nearer home should word come to us,” Irvine reasoned, sensing Ellone’s distress like needles against his skin. 

“And what if we were needed further west?” Seifer replied, finishing his tepid tea and set the cup amongst their meagre belongings, “No, we must stay where we have been put. Matron will call us.”

Ellone and Irvine nodded reluctantly but agreed. Seifer left them both preparing to sleep as he made his way back to the mouth of the cave, and took up his post to watch the forest until sunrise. 

*******

“How did you do it?” Cloud asked as he watched Leon pull the heavy curtains across the high windows. Sun light came streaming into his chambers, and Cloud squinted against the sunbeams. “The game of Chess, I mean. How did you beat it?”

Leon smirked to himself and picked up the clothes lying strewn across the floor and thought about his answer before placing them in the basket by the fire, ready to be taken down to the laundry maids. Picking up the jug of water that had been warming on the hearth, he filled the basin on the wash stand and turned to consider the captain as he came up beside him. 

“I’m not stupid,” he answered, passing Cloud the wash cloth, “We call this game Ruhrh in my country.”

“So you knew what it was all along?” Cloud pressed, watching the youth’s impassive features closely. 

Leon shrugged, “Of course.”

Cloud let a small smile slip and enjoyed the way it was almost reflected on Leon’s face as he shook his head and chuckled. 

“And to think, I was beaten by a barbarian,” Cloud said, turning away from the Gaian and dropped the wedge of soap into the water. He missed the way Leon’s subtle smile faltered and his face became dark again as he frowned at Cloud’s back.

“I’m not a barbarian,” he replied lowly, his apathetic mood stirred to mild rage. 

Cloud finished washing his face and dried it; turning to look at Leon he noticed the anger in his silvery eyes and tried to suppress a sigh.

“No?” he asked, turning down the sleeves of his white under shirt, “You call running around the wilds with a magical animal as your companion civilized?”  
Leon turned sharply and picked up the captain’s doublet in his fisted hands.

“You hold me prisoner,” he countered, his voice a tight and angry snarl as he pushed the garment towards Cloud’s chest and held it there, pinning him with his icy glare, “and you call me barbarian.”

Cloud took the jacket and set it aside, breaking their eye contact as he looked down at the soapy water in the basin and felt an odd stirring of guilt. 

“Taking prisoners is part of war, Leon,” he said, the words feeling heavy and useless on his tongue, “you would know this if you were old enough to have been in one.”

The Gaian snorted softly and turned away, walking towards the bed.

“I have been to war. I am older than you, human!” he replied over his shoulder, tugging sharply at the sheets as he made the bed.

“I highly doubt that, you barely look seventeen winters.” 

Leon stopped in his duties and turned to glare again at the captain, “I am young amongst my people, but I have seen forty years on this earth,” he watched as Cloud’s brows rose into his hair line, only for the captain to quickly recover himself and stare back at him with a level gaze.

“That’s impossible,” he whispered, looking closely at the Gaian features in a way he had never done before. 

Leon’s face was smooth and pale and his eyes were bright and youthful. The scar slashed across his nose was the only evidence that he had seen how ugly the world could be, and Cloud found it almost incredible to believe that he was anything more than a child. Only the strange and knowing light in his silvery gaze let the secret of his age slip, and for a moment, Cloud felt disorientated.

Leon shrugged, turning back to his bed making, “It’s not impossible,” he explained, completely unaware of Cloud’s discomfort, “My people live a long time. Compared to them, you are nothing but a child.”

Cloud shook himself and felt the disorientation pass, leaving only a confused and mild anger behind at the Gaian’s words. Cloud had not considered himself a child for a long time, and the pains of his upbringing were a testimony to that. Confused and affronted, and unable to explain why, Cloud marched across the room and took hold of the chains around Leon’s wrists, yanking them and pulling him away from the bed, tearing the sheets from his grip.

“I am no boy, Gaian,” he chose the word carefully, emphasising the great distance between them even as he moved into Leon’s personal space, until there was barely an inch between their noses and Leon could feel the hot breath of the captain on his cheek, “Do not make the mistake of treating me like one.”

Leon struggled only slightly against Cloud’s grasp and stared back at the man, taking in his features which were twisted in confused anger. Leon had known from the very moment he had met his first Midgarian that the power he possessed and the blood that coursed through his veins was enough to cause the greatest of fear in men. Although he still could not understand why, he knew that such fear made men dangerous.

“Like you treat me?” he spoke, watching how his words would affect the captain. He felt his heart beating quickly against his ribcage and he waited with quickening breaths to see if this man’s anger was as dangerous as the others had been. 

Cloud blinked and pulled away, dropping the chains gripped tightly in his hands, and he took a step back. The fog that had erupted in his mind was clearing, and although he still felt the sparks of anger burning low in his gut, they were being doused by a quick wave of guilt as he stared at the prisoner. He was about to open his mouth to speak – a suggestion that perhaps Aerith had been wrong, and that Leon was better suited to being outside – when the Gaian spoke again.

“When you look at me, you see only our differences,” his voice was calm and mild and Cloud struggled to make eye contact, “They make you angry and I don’t know why.”

Cloud stared hard at the flagstone floor and bit down on his stubborn tongue. He felt his rage swirling within him, yet a stirring of remorse and guilt plagued him too. They intensified as he lifted his gaze to meet Leon’s and a small voice suddenly spoke out in the chaos of his mind, as clear as if he had heard it in the room: this is wrong...

Taking another step back, Cloud breathed in and out, slowly and ducked his head. 

“I’m sorry,” he replied, turning abruptly. He picked up his doublet and headed for the door, grasping his sword as he passed and left Leon alone and confused, his strange apology hanging in the air.


	8. Chapter 8

Cloud sat and watched the fire and thought deeply. The cold that had bitten at his fingers and turned his cheeks red was receding and gradually he was thawing, his shoulders drooping until he was relaxed and comfortable in his chair, watching the flames dance and flicker. His eyes were distant and cloudy with contemplation and the shadows crept from the corners of his chambers until they had climbed the walls and darkness fell outside his windows; a light fluttering of snow pattering against the glass panes as the wind whistled around the high turrets.

Cloud’s brows furrowed as his mind shifted to thoughts of the Gaian, and the disturbing encounter the previous day. Despite his musings, Cloud still could not pinpoint his discomfort and his irrational emotions were bothering him. Why had the prisoner enraged him? His words had been like oil on a naked flame, and Cloud was unsettled by the notion. He battled with Leon’s accusation and though he desperately tried to deny it, even in his own mind, Cloud had to admit that Leon was right. The Gaian frightened him. 

Leon was so unlike anything or anyone he had met before and the foreign nature of him was startling. Yet Leon had also been mistaken. It was not the differences between their races that had Cloud so enraged, it was the sense that despite the things Cloud had been led to believe about the barbarians from the north, there was so much that felt familiar and comforting about Leon: a sense that he had known him for a longer time than was possible. His face was young, yet he held a clear and powerful sense of age. And although Cloud had experienced nothing but hostility and arrogance from him, he had seen the way he had treated Sora; offering him food and protection from Bannock, even at the cost of his own wellbeing. There could be no denying there was gentleness and humility in him, and the image would not lie with the cold and fearsome reputation he had been brought up to believe. 

Doubt muddied his mind, and Cloud disliked it very much. He was pulled from his musings by the now familiar sound of Leon's chains rattling and echoing up the hidden stairwell, and the captain straightened himself in his chair as Leon pulled back the wall hanging and ducked his head as he entered.

They had not spoken since their prickly encounter the day before, and their fragile truce was hanging in the air.

Leon shuffled into the room, his eyes cast downwards and averted to the tray he carried in his hands, and Cloud watched awkwardly from the corner of his eye as the prisoner set his evening meal on the table beside him. As Leon turned to leave, Cloud caught sight of his wrists. They were bruised a painful shade of purple and black, and around the bony part the skin had broken and was now bleeding fresh blood, staining Leon's hands.

Cloud reached out instinctively, catching Leon around the arm and with a sense of mild shock at his sudden actions, Cloud glanced up at him, a fragile apology on the tip of his tongue.

"Your wrists; how long have they been like that?" he asked instead.

Leon's confused frown deepened as he looked down at his hands and tried to ignore the feel of Cloud's fingers on his skin.

"Always," his voice was quiet and level and now that he was closer and in the light of the fire, Cloud could see the pallor of his skin and the deep bruises under his eyes.

"They must hurt."

Leon lifted his shoulders in a small, apathetic shrug, "No more than everywhere else."

Their eyes met for a few moments and in their meeting Cloud saw not only the pain of Leon's capture but the sadness and inevitability of his end. Leon believed he would die here, and the truth of that struck Cloud harder than any physical blow.

Moving his hand, Cloud inspected the metal cuffs around Leon's wrists and tugged at the locks experimentally.

"Who put these on you?"

"The man who brought me here. I don't know his name. I tried to run and they brought me back and put these on," Leon replied, his confusion only growing as he watched the captain's strange actions.

Cloud stood, startling Leon slightly as he moved back a little.

"Wait here," Cloud told him, pointing to the other chair opposite the fire, "Sit down, I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't leave until I return."

Leon did as instructed, and the moment he sank into the chair Cloud could read the relief and exhaustion on his face despite the heavy scowl he wore. Quickly turning on his heels, he left the warmth of his chambers and the prisoner sat by the fire.

Leon watched him leave, too confused and tired to question what was going on. Once he was alone again he sat back in the chair and stared down at his injured wrists and wondered what had prompted the strange captain to enquire about them. They were the least of his injuries, and Leon considered them only a minor inconvenience. He had learnt to live with his confining chains and realised with a depressing sigh that he had grown so used to them he hardly noticed them now. The pain they caused bled into his daily life and accompanied him everywhere, and Leon felt the sadness of that deep within what was left of his soul.

He waited so long for Cloud to return that he grew sleepy, and he let his eyes slide closed as he soaked in the heat of the fire and enjoyed the comforts while he could. He was startled awake by the sound of his name and he sat bolt upright to see Cloud stood in front of him, a strange and unreadable expression on his face. To Leon it looked almost like sympathy, yet without his guardian to guide his senses, he would never be able to tell. He had lost his inner eye and it left him adrift in a sea of confusing feelings.

"I'm sorry, I fell asleep," he mumbled, making to stand quickly.

Cloud reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him back into the chair. Sliding his hand down his arm, Leon watched as the captain pulled a key from inside his doublet and took up his wrist, unlocking the shackles around his arms and then his legs, and threw them aside.

"What are you doing?" Leon asked, immediately feeling weightless now that the heavy chains were gone.

"They were hurting you," Cloud explained, the simple words tumbling from his mouth as he looked up at the Gaian from his crouched position by his feet. He quickly recovered himself, standing abruptly, "and I was growing tired of hearing you rattling about."

Leon looked back down at his bruised and bleeding wrists and went to cover them with the tatty edges of his sleeve. He watched Cloud move to the wash stand and bring the bowl of water back to the table, placing it on the tray next to his meal. With a tired, disconnected interest, he watched the captain ring out the cloth and take up his hand again, his movements slow and careful as he began to wash away the grime and blood from his skin.

Cloud took his time, being careful to dab at the most scuffed and abused patches, and when he was done and the water had turned a filthy, russet brown, he placed the cloth back into the bowl and let Leon's wrist go.

"I'm no healer," he apologised, "But I doubt I could do a better job than Aerith, anyway."

Leon stared down at his hands, now clean but still painfully bruised and abraded and felt a confusing mixture of gratitude and simmering anger.

"I could run," he said simply, glancing up at Cloud from under his wild bangs.

"You could," Cloud agreed, nodding slightly, "But you won't. Outside of this city there is nothing but miles and miles of barren wilderness. You would perish before you reached the mountains. Or you would be brought back here, and your punishment would be worse."

Leon could only silently agree. There were pains and tortures here that were far worse than death, and the prospect of dying free was something he would only consider once all other hope was lost. In truth, he didn't know why he still clung to hope. He had known he was doomed from the moment Griever had been killed, yet for some unexplainable reason he was still clinging to his wretched life, experiencing the worst kind of slow and painful death. Cloud's unexpected kindness was like an oasis in the desert, and Leon's eagerness to embrace it left him feeling small and worthless.

"I do not want you to be kind to me," he said, wishing the captain would sit down or let him leave.

"You were wrong yesterday," Cloud replied, ignoring Leon's request. He moved the bowl of water next to the fire and sat himself back in his chair. Now that the chains were gone, and he was facing the Gaian on equal grounds, as he might with one of his kinsmen, he saw the truth in Leon's words. "There are differences between us, that much you are right about. But I do not hate you for them. Fear of the unknown drives men to do foolish things, but you are no longer unknown."  
"I do not frighten you?" Leon asked with almost a wry sense of humour in his tone.

"Yes, you frighten me," Cloud said, smiling slightly, "but only because you are more human than I ever thought possible."

"I am Gaian!" Leon replied, offended by the comparison.

"Yes you are," Cloud agreed, "and I believe I'm finally beginning to understand what that actually means."

Leon sat back into the chair, his discomfort easing slightly at the captain's words and he considered Cloud for a while. The silence that followed was deep and full of though, but eventually, Leon spoke:

"You are strange," he murmured, shaking his head softly, "You are not like the others here."

Cloud smiled a little and turned back to the fire.

"I am somewhat of an outcast myself," he said.

"Why?"

"I was born a bastard, the worst kind of mistake a man can make," the smile on Cloud's face was fading and there was no humour in his eyes as he spoke.

"What is a bastard?" Leon asked, furrowing his brows and tilting his head in that way that Cloud was quickly growing fond of.

"The child of an unwed union - unable to inherit land or title - and a stain on a man's honour. We are not looked kindly upon."

"You are treated badly, like me?" Leon asked, a look of almost sympathy converting his features and Cloud was suddenly reminded of his dying horse and the comfort Leon had tried to give her in her final moments.

"Maybe not quite like you. But close, yes."

Leon took a while to process the captain's words, carefully turning them over in his mind as he considered all he had seen. There was no doubting that Cloud had been kind to him, and had at the very least not hurt him. But there was more to his life than could be explained by his birth, and even without his inner eye, Leon could still sense a great sadness and loss in the man, and he knew instantly that it was the cause of his difference.

"You must be very lonely here then," Leon spoke, thinking of his own isolation and longing.

Cloud had never thought about it before, but he realised the moment Leon said it that it was true, and a large part of his unhappiness suddenly became clearer.

"I have Zack," Cloud replied, thinking of how he kept him at arm’s length, afraid to taint him with his reputation, "but I cannot afford friends."

"You don't buy friends," Leon replied, misinterpreting Cloud's meaning, "they are drawn to us, because we are good. It cannot be helped."

"Then I cannot be very good," Cloud said, his face a blank and emotionless mask.

Leon considered the suggestion, and although a part of him wanted to agree with his enemy, he could not bring himself to lie.

"I do not think that is true."

Cloud looked at him, surprise clear on his face, "How can you be so sure?" he asked, appreciating the words despite not believing them. Leon shrugged and stared back, his gaze unwavering as he spoke:

"I'm Gaian."

The simple explanation was vague, but satisfactory, and Cloud smiled.

"Are all your people like you?" he asked.

"No one is like me; we are all different."

"Your Guardians, are they all different as well? Yours was a lion, wasn't it?"

Leon's earnest features turned dark with sorrow and he looked away into the fire.

"I do not wish to speak of Griever," he said, his voice soft and full of grief.

"Griever? You name them?"

"Of course. They are part of us. We are forged together in the Lifestream and one cannot be born without the other. It is a bond that goes deeper than anything else on this earth. It is sacred."

Cloud stared down at his hands and felt overwhelming shame. He may not have been the hand that had done it, but his people had destroyed a sacred being and Cloud understood the reason for Leon's sadness. The shadow that constantly veiled his face was now obvious, and Cloud had never felt more ashamed to have Shinra's blood run in his veins.

"You must miss him," he said dumbly, feeling the uselessness of the sentiment.

"I miss my kin, and I miss my homeland. What I feel for Griever’s death cannot be explained in words. It is too great." Leon felt his throat tighten and that place in his centre that echoed with loss ached uncontrollably.

"You must hate us a great deal for what we have done to you."

Leon opened his eyes and looked at Cloud, swallowing past the knot in his throat.

"There is already so much hate here, it makes me feel small. Like I can't breathe. I think..." Leon closed his eyes again, his brows furrowing as if in pain and he lowered his head, "I do not wish to add to it. But I cannot deny that it hurts me. I am lost without him and I do not think I shall last much longer."

It was the first time Leon had faced the inevitability of his end, and it surprised him to realise that he was sharing his deepest, most terrible fears with his enemy.  
"What do you mean?" Cloud asked, suddenly alarmed by Leon's words.

Leon sighed and stared back into the fire, all the weariness and pain he felt written clearly on his face.

"I do not wish to die. I have been afraid of it all my life. But every time I close my eyes a part of me hopes I never open them again. Living without Griever is unbearable. We were not made to be without a Guardian."

"Are you saying you'll die without one?" Cloud asked, brows drawn down in concern.

"I think so. It has never happened to a Gaian before, but our magic is clear: a Gaian and a Guardian are one. Where one perishes, so must the other."

"But you are still alive," Cloud stuttered, suddenly afraid.

"I do not know how," Leon answered honestly, "but I feel it cannot last."

"Why are you telling me this?" Cloud asked, thinking of his father and his plans for war. The Gaian was the key to it all, yet they could lose everything if what Leon was saying was true.

"It doesn't matter. Whatever your King wants from me, I won't do it, and I'll die anyway. I am no use to him."

Cloud was silent for a long time, considering Leon's words, and still he was unable to shake the fear that they had caused.

"Is there anything that can be done, to save you, I mean," he asked softly.

"If there is a way, I do not know it, and I'm far from the people who could help."

Cloud's heart fell further as he realised Leon would never make it home. Even if Shinra cared enough to listen to him, he would never believe the Gaian. And what if he did? He would keep him prisoner here out of spite, denying him the chance to return home to die amongst his people.

"I am so sorry, Leon," Cloud said, wanting to reach out to him. He stayed his hand and watched him carefully instead.

"Squall," the prisoner replied looking up from the fire to stare at Cloud's face, "My name is Squall."

Cloud was taken aback for a moment, surprised at himself for never wondering, but he realised that it suited the wild youth, the meaning behind his name reflected in the storming grey of his eyes.

"It's a good name," he said, smiling gently.

"I think so," Squall replied, his dry humour lifting the room slightly, and for a brief time, both Squall and Cloud's fear and heavy hearts were eased.

*******

Kunsel’s horse snickered and shifted uneasily in the snow, her flank shivering in the bitter cold as her rider cast a wary eye about the forest. The branches of the fir trees quivered in the breeze and Kunsel felt as if eyes peered between the boughs, watching him; the darkened forest was silent as if it had drawn a great breath and was holding it. The silence was eerie and the sight of the three dead bodies, dusted with fresh powdered snow, set the lieutenant’s nerves on edge. 

Kunsel’s entire squad was dead and he had only been gone a few hours. The Gaians knew they were here, in the forest looking for them, and had found them first. The spike of panic that had bitten painfully in the back of his throat eased as the moments slipped by and the forest remained still. Only the sound of the wind and the soft pattering of snow broke the silence. 

Kunsel did not even stop to check his dead men for supplies. He turned his horse and kicked her into a gallop, uncaring about the close quartered trees and risked laming his horse on uneven ground hidden in snow drifts. For half a mile he galloped south until he broke the dense line of trees and dashed out onto open tundra, turning south east towards where he knew The First were camped outside of Nibelheim. If he kept up his speed and encountered no wildling Gaians, he might make it to the northern most posting of Midgar by sundown the next day. There were many miles between then and now and Kunsel kept a weary distance between himself and the tree line as he followed it for as long as he could, before he had to divert further south to find the bridge across the mighty river Silver that cut the land in half like the spine of a book; its freezing, foaming waters crashed over rapids towards the Junon waterfalls that fed both strongholds at Corel and Avalanche.

Within the forest, the watchful eyes of Seifer witnessed the human’s flight and once the shadowed figure had travelled beyond his sight and was too small to see he climbed down from his vantage point amongst the branches of a large evergreen and landed gracefully in the snow. Ifrit sniffed and grunted from the shadows behind him and he turned to acknowledge his Guardian with a soft nod.

‘He’s gone.’

‘We should have killed him.’

Seifer shook his head and glanced back out into the white wasteland that was gradually fading to black with the dying sun, and he reached over his shoulder to readjust Hyperion upon his back. ‘No, they must believe we still haunt this forest. He will return to his people and tell of shifting, killing shadows that slaughter men in broad daylight. His witness will give us the advantage we need until Matron calls us home.’ Seifer sensed his guardian’s reluctant agreement and despite the tactical mercy he had demonstrated he couldn’t help but empathise with Ifrit’s desires. He had shown great restraint in keeping the Midgarian alive. 

‘Where are the others?’

‘They are further east,’ Ifrit replied, lifting his snout as if to sniff the wind. ‘They have news.’

‘Matron?’ Seifer enquired eagerly.

‘Selphie has found us. She brings Namine and Quistis with her.’

As if the very mention of her name conjured her Guardian, Seifer looked skywards and saw a hawk circling between the swaying branches of the trees, its silhouette a dark smudge against the grey and pallid clouds. He felt Selphie’s presence within the animal immediately, and felt his heart quicken with excitement.

‘Let us hurry then. We may see our friends again be before night fall.’ 

They set off into a sprint and rushed soundlessly back into the forest, leaving only the barest traces of their footprints behind, to be quickly covered by the oncoming snow storm that billowed in the ominous clouds above. 

They ran without stopping and were guided by the bird above them. Ragnarok swooped a final time and came to rest amongst the lower branches of a tree and peering into the gloom beyond it, Seifer felt the presence of his kin. He opened his mind and sent warm pulses of affection and greeting, and was overjoyed to feel them returned. Shadowy figures stood and welcomed him, opening their arms to embrace him as they enfolded him into their makeshift camp.

“You bring word from Matron?” Seifer asked as he wrapped his arms around Selphie and lifted her from her feet. 

“I do,” she giggled, pressing her forehead to her kinsman’s in traditional greeting before he lowered her to the ground. Seifer quickly welcomed Quistis and Namine, smiling joyfully at Ellone and Irvine as they stood a few steps away enjoying the sight of their reunion. 

“We’ve come to bring you home. Matron has given instruction to return through the Tomb of the Unknown King and seal the passage between our lands and Midgar.”

“We are to abandon this country?” Seifer frowned.

“For now; we are too few to risk protecting these boarders. Let the humans have the forest. It is ruined by this unnatural winter anyhow.” 

“And what of Squall?” Ellone spoke up, her eyes already filled with tears at the thought of returning home without him. 

Selphie’s smile faded and her face grew sombre. She did not have the words or the heart to answer and for a fraction of a second too long, a silence descended. 

“Ellone, he is dead,” Seifer spoke gently, forcing the words past his own grief. 

“You would leave his body here, with them?” the dark haired woman cried, pointing sharply towards the south, her face distraught as a tear slipped free. Her distress pressed against all of their minds and they winced with feeling and compassion. 

“If there is even a body left to rescue, it would not be worth all our lives to retrieve it,” Seifer tried to reason, but Ellone was quick to anger and her shifting, tumultuous emotions lashed at the group with uncontrolled force.

“It is sacred; his body is sacred!” she cried with a wet hiccup.

“Ellone, please,” Quistis spoke lifting a hand to her temple as she frowned at the shorter woman. “What you ask is impossible.” 

It was useless to accuse them of not understanding. They were not connected by the mind like one was to a Guardian, but they felt what each other felt and they all shared the grief of Squall’s passing. It was not for lack of empathy that they refused Ellone’s request, and so the young woman relented; understanding deep down that they spoke wisely and with clearer thought than she currently possessed. 

“We should return home,” Namine spoke quietly, her delicate voice dropping like a stone through still waters. 

All of them agreed silently, nodding in unison as from the shadows their Guardians appeared; coalescing in the dimness to coil around their legs and flutter to their shoulders as they gathered their strength and hardened their hearts. 

They did not stop to take rest. Instead they turned back east and made for the King’s Tomb, eager to return to their homeland but heavy with grief and a terrible sense of loss. 

*******

Angeal stood before his king and watched Shinra’s back with a quiet and level gaze. His head pounded from all he had to report. He was weary from travel, yet he stood tall and straight as he waited for Shinra to reply.

The king stood upon his balcony, doors flung wide open to let drifts of scattered snow into his wintry chambers and although Angeal stood well within the rooms he felt no warmth. Shinra was a cold man through and through; he thrived upon the bitterness. It bolstered him, and he appeared like a frozen wraith with large, hulking furs draped around his bony frame. 

“Your Highness?” Angeal asked after a long time of Shinra’s chilly silence. 

“I have long known of Ansem’s designs,” the king replied, his voice clipped and sharp like flakes of ice. “His deceit is of no surprise to me.”

Angeal shifted uneasily, only because Shinra’s back was to him and he could not see his hesitation. 

“But, surely…” he began, deeply perturbed by the king’s nonchalance. 

“If I could achieve my goals without his wretched kind I would, believe me, Angeal,” Shinra turned from the balcony’s edge and peered over his shoulder at his captain, his glacial eyes peering at him with a pale hardness. “Ansem’s powers are essential. I cannot defeat the Gaian’s without him.”

Angeal swallowed thickly and felt his heart leap to his throat.

“You speak of the army within the Bastion City.”

Shinra turned back to stare out at the white horizon but Angeal did not feel any more at ease. He supressed a shiver and prayed to Holy that the king would not answer him. 

“Long ago I struck a deal with the Lord Ansem when I conquered his lands and brought him to heel. He agreed fealty to me if I allowed him rule over his people, and in return he would offer me his talents should I ever have need. Deep in the heart of Hollow Bastion he breeds an army like no other on this earth.”

“The Heartless…” Angeal breathed, the name slipping from his lips before he had even realised it.

“We are powerless against the Gaian’s magic, Angeal. For every one of them we kill they take ten men with them, no one has been able to defeat them in battle, no one!” Shinra snapped, turning quickly and pacing into his chambers, drawing close to his captain with a mad fire in his eyes. “We are just men. How can we prevail against such monsters?”

“But Sire… men without hearts…”

“Cannot be hurt,” Shinra finished for him. “Men without hearts feel no fear; feel no pain. They are already dead and so cannot be killed. Men who cannot be killed cannot be stopped.”

“You do not know that for certain,” Angeal was almost breathless. He felt his pounding pulse within his own temples. 

“No,” Shinra agreed, “Our barbarian prisoner will be the key to ensuring Ansem’s magic is a success. He will be the rodent within the maze.” 

Slowly and with sickening finality, Shinra’s plan began to slide into place within Angeal’s mind and he marvelled at the scale of it; felt sick with dread and foreboding. 

“Ansem and the Barons will come, and I shall finally have my war,” Shinra almost smiled, his thin and withered lips twitching into a grotesque mockery of pleasure as the king stepped back and strode out onto the balcony again. 

Angeal took his leave, not wanting to stay a moment longer. He retreated to his quarters to rest a while and promised himself he would ride out again to Corel at first light. Avalanche – for all its warm and comforting memories – had suddenly become a cold and terrifying place, and Angeal felt like he no longer knew it. 

*******

Zack was hovering by the bread oven hoping to catch Aerith’s attention and getting in everyone’s way as the busy kitchen bustled with early morning activity. He knew his lover was avoiding him, and he also knew that if he made himself enough of a nuisance she would eventually have to acknowledge him, even if it was just to kick him out and scold him for being underfoot. Eventually his plan worked, and after a while of shuffling from one foot to the other, twisting this way and that to avoid being walked into, Zack was greeted with the icy, disapproving glare of the Aerith.

“What do you want, Lord Fair?” she asked, hands on hips.

Zack reached up to scratch at the back of his neck and had the good grace to look contrite. It had been weeks since their argument – the longest they had ever gone without seeing one another – and Zack was deeply concerned for the state of their relationship.

“I wanted to see you,” he answered honestly, offering her a small, apologetic smile. 

“Well, you’ve seen me. Is there anything else I can do for you?” she replied curtly.

“Please, Aerith, can’t we go somewhere to talk?”

“Does it look like a have time to talk?” she asked, motioning towards the chaos around her. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Oh don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been busy.”

“You’re always busy; you used to make plenty of time for me.”

Aerith scoffed and shouldered past him, nudging his bulky frame out of the way as she opened the door to the bread oven and a blast of heat enveloped them both. When it was obvious that the unflattering noise was all she was going to say on the matter, Zack pressed further. 

“I really am sorry… for what I said. It was thoughtless and I…” Zack looked around them both at the busy kitchen aware that their conversation was far from private, and although everyone appeared to be working diligently, Zack knew that the entire room’s attention was trained intently on them. “I miss you,” he added, a little quieter. 

“So you’ve already said. I got your message, and the flowers you sent. And the sweet pastries,” Aerith’s tone was clipped as she slid the bread board into the furnace and hefted out the large tray. Grasping at the edges with her apron she hauled it out and set her heavy load down on the central table, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. 

“They weren’t easy to come by, those flowers,” Zack said, his simmering puppy dog eyes wasted on her back. 

“I should be flattered, I’m sure.”

Zack sighed heavily and considered losing his temper. Instead he balled his fists, quashed his irritation and changed tact. 

“I’ve been worried about Cloud,” he said watching as she stopped in her work. She didn’t quite turn around, but he had her attention.

“He’s hardly ever on the tilt yard and I haven’t seen him in the barracks in days. The men are beginning to talk,” he pressed, coming up behind her, “He won’t let me in to see him. You’re the only other person who knows him as well as I do, Aerith. You’re the only other person I can talk to.”

Aerith’s shoulder’s dropped as she let out a defeated sigh and Zack knew he had her. He quickly smothered a triumphant smirk before she turned around.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do about it,” Aerith said, looking up at him with vague annoyance “He spends most of his time in his rooms.”

“You must get a chance to speak with him?”

“Not these days,” Aerith replied shaking her head, “Leon has taken over my duties. He attends Cloud now.”

“The Gaian?”

“They suit each other quite well actually; neither of them talk very much,” Aerith shrugged turning back to her work. 

“Will you ask him to take a message to Cloud?” Zack asked, hovering at her side, unwilling to let his chance to get past her defences slip by.

“Fine. But what good you think it’ll do you. You know Cloud as well as I do; he’s stubborn. He’ll re-appear when he’s good and ready and not a candle wick before.”

“Thank you,” Zack said, testing the waters as he put a tentative arm around Aerith’s shoulders. The maid shrugged him off quickly, throwing him a dark scowl in warning.

“Don’t think I don’t know what game you’re playing. I’m still mad at you.”

Zack raised his hands in supplication and wisely stepped back.

“Just… tell him I need to speak with him,” was all he said, turning to leave.

Aerith’s thunderous expression softened at his wounded look and she watched him leave, calling out to him just as he reached the door.

“The flowers really were beautiful.”

Zack turned back, half way out of the kitchens and he smothered his triumphant grin with a small and humble smile. Aerith smiled back affectionately, and briefly wondered why she was still punishing him before she shook herself and waved him off with a dismissive hand.

As Zack closed the door behind him, another opened, and Leon’s dark head of unruly wild hair appeared, scanning the bustling bodies for any sign of Elmyra.

“She’s not here, Leon, but you’ll have to be quick. She’s only down in the scullery,” Aerith called beckoning him over to the tray she had just finished preparing. 

He sidled up to her and kept his head down low, aware that despite the mistress of the kitchen being absent, there were plenty of people there that still disliked his presence. 

“I’ll accompany you this morning. I’ve a fresh load of linen to take up and a message to deliver,” Aerith said, disappearing briefly and retuning with a large armful of sheets in a heavy basket. 

They left just as quickly, taking the long and winding staircase all the way back up towards the captain’s chambers. 

“I don’t know why he insists on these rooms, they’re so far away from everywhere else in the castle,” Aerith puffed as the took a rest on one of the small landings, “It worries me he spends so much time alone.”

Leon watched her with impassive eyes as always, his thought hidden behind his blank features and he surprised Aerith by asking a question.

“Why does he not have a wife?”

Aerith stopped her panting and puffing and levelled him with a weary gaze.

“Everyone else here has a wife, why not him?” Leon pressed. The innocence of his question was obvious, but Aerith still felt the dangerous warning deep in her gut. 

“Leon, you must be very careful when you speak of Lord Strife like that,” she warned, a little breathless. Leon’s brows furrowed in confusion and before he could open his mouth to question her further she stepped forwards and quickly checked up and down the stairwell to make sure that they were alone. 

“Talk travels in the castle, Leon. Questions like that have a way of bringing trouble; you must learn to be more discreet.”

“I do not understand,” Leon replied, shaking his head slightly as he lowered his voice. 

Aerith sighed and frowned down at her bundle of linen, thinking quickly of the best way to explain. Eventually, she decided, and bolstered herself, her eyes turning serious and hard as she stared at the Gaian. 

“There are already rumours,” she explained, her voice dropping even lower so that Leon had to lean closer to hear her, “Rumours that Lord Strife refuses to take a wife because his interests lie… elsewhere.”

Leon’s confusion did not pass, and Aerith pressed on.

“He hides behind his bastard’s name and claims that no woman would want to wed a Strife; it’s a decent enough excuse. It has protected him this long. If he were of noble birth he would have chosen a wife by now. But he remains unwed and that is enough proof for some people.”

“You mean no woman will want him, because of the way he was born?” Leon’s incomprehension was obvious and Aerith was growing anxious to make him understand.

“You must listen when I tell you, Leon… being different… seeking company in the arms of another man, it is forbidden here,” she whispered and Leon’s eyes widened, “You do not simply end up in the stocks. You are not punished with a flogging or even exile. The penalty is death. And not even being the king’s son can save you from judgement.”

Leon’s brows smoothed and his face shifted to something unreadable.

“One false word – the smallest shred of doubt – would be all it took to destroy him. Please,” she begged, “don’t ask about this again.” 

Leon swallowed visibly and licked his dry lips, nodding quickly. His response seemed to appease Aerith and she turned abruptly, taking off up the stairs again, and she did not look back to see if the prisoner was following her.


	9. Chapter 9

Lazard had always been impressed by the might of Avalanche. The castle and the city below it, sat on its rocky outcrop in the centre of a barren wasteland, had stolen his heart as a boy. He'd first seen it as a child, brought to court and presented before the king by his father – a wealthy landowner under the rule of Baron Xehanort far in the south – as he'd come of age, and he'd entered political life as an already cunning and clever protégé. King Shinra had seen his worth quickly enough, and he'd ascended the ranks to a station that would have normally been well out of his reach. It was an achievement that he was endlessly proud of and the castle Avalanche was a beacon of his ascension; a symbol of his success, and he would die before he saw it betrayed.

He took his time meandering through the cobbled streets of the lower tiers, enjoying the noise and the smells of his adopted home. Atop his horse he could see above the heads of the bustling crowd and he watched with a contented gaze as the common folk set up their stalls, scrubbed their front steps, and threw their sewerage out into the gutters.

He had missed his city. Corel could never compare to the might and grandeur of the capital; Corel was a poor and barren place in comparison filled with miners and workers and soldiers grown bored and lazy. It was grey and bleak, and it held none of the splendour that made Avalanche so impressive.

Lazard led his mouth on up through the coiling streets and passed into the upper quarters. The hard packed earth turned to cobbled stone and the wooden dwellings turned to masonry and brick; the streets growing wider and less dense as the servants of the wealthy scuttled about on their master’s errands. Finally, he approached the castle’s gate house and nodded solemnly to the guard, his familiar face and the colours on his horse allowing him passage into the keep without challenge. 

He dismounted in the courtyard and watched as the stable boy took his horse and he turned a slow circle, peeling his gloves from his hands as he lifted his chin and soaked in the atmosphere.

“You’re late,” a stone cold voice spoke behind him.

Lazard finished turning his circle and opened his eyes. Tsung stood at the bottom of a flight of steps that wound around the side of a turret, the stones dusted with a light covering of snow. As always, the officious man wore black; his layered robes swept the ground and made him appear like a crow, his face just as sharp and his eyes just as cunning, his dark hair pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck. 

“My apologies,” Lazard spoke raising a golden eyebrow “I was instructed to wait for my captain’s return. Corel was in need of leadership whilst Angeal was in the south.”

“His Grace awaits your council,” Tsung’s tone was as sharp as a barb and Lazard did not miss the implication. The imperious man was far too proud of his position as steward to the prince, and he had never missed an opportunity to remind Lazard – or anyone else – of his station. Despite Lazard’s own stewardship, they were far from equal. 

“Then let us not keep him waiting any longer.”

Lazard followed Tsung back up the winding tower steps, being careful to keep well into the wall. The dizzying height of castle Avalanche had always disorientated him and if there was one thing he was pleased for at Corel it was that the garrison was a relatively stout and low lying building. Tsung seemed to glide along the precarious fortifications, his long robes spreading out behind him in a gust of fabric and Lazard silently sneered. His wardrobe had no doubt been chosen meticulously, to give just the right effect. 

It was not long before they were inside the castle, continuing their journey through draughty stone hallways left bare of any decoration or braziers. There was no need of them this high up, where there was never anyone to see them. They did not enter the princes’ chambers through the large oak doors, but pulled back a stone lever and watched a portion of wall at the end of a hidden passageway slide away and reveal a warm chamber behind it. 

Rufus sat at his desk; his golden head bent low over his papers, his ruined sword arm tucked into his side as he struggled to write with his left. It was an adjustment he had never mastered. 

“Your Grace,” Lazard bent low at the middle and waited for Rufus to address him.

“What kept you?” the prince did not look up from his work.

“Duty, your Grace; I was needed at Corel for longer than anticipated.”

“Your duty is to me, Lazard, not that usurper sympathiser,” Rufus ceased his work and set his quill aside, fixing the steward with a cold and piercing stare.  
“As it always has been, your Grace. But Angeal gave instruction and I could not disobey without raising suspicion.”

“What suspicion?” Rufus asked with a frown, the action wrinkling the ugly scars that ruined the side of his face. “I am the crown Prince, not some fighting dog. I am above suspicion.”

“Of course,” Lazard inclined his head, knowing better than to argue. It would matter very little to the prince that Angeal had begun to suspect Lazard’s position. Though there was very little trust between them to begin with. Angeal’s affection for the bastard son had set his mind against his proper and dutiful allegiances, and Lazard could hold nothing but contempt for him. 

“You bring me news from the west?” Rufus asked, his tone clipped as he stood from his desk with a wince. He had been sitting for a long time and he ached with a chill. He moved closer to the fire and stood with his back to both his stewards. 

“I do. The bastard did not stay long at Corel, but I was fortunate enough to overhear some of their conversations.”

Rufus turned slightly, locking his one good eye onto Lazard, “It is as we fear, my bastard brother plots against me?”

“He did not say so in so much words, your Grace. But he spoke in riddles of a dissatisfied life. He wishes for more. It was Angeal who was moved to treasonous speech,” Lazard watched how this news affected the prince’s face, already contorted with disfiguring scars and the shadows of paranoia. “He spoke of how he wished Lord Strife were the king that Shinra always should have been.”

Rufus turned back to the fire and cradled his aching arm in his good hand.

“So it is true; they move against the crown.” 

“I believe it is in their thoughts, your Grace,” Lazard nodded, a bitter taste coming to the back of his tongue as he thought of the betrayal. 

“We will need to move quickly, your Highness,” Tsung spoke, his voice a low monotone yet urgent. Rufus was silent for a long time, neither steward willing to push him for his response as they waited and watched his hunched back. Eventually he turned, his jaw clenched and his one working hand balled into a fist.

“Lazard, you will return to Corel, but not alone,” Rufus motion to Tsung and the dark haired man inclined his head, understanding the silent command. He turned and disappeared back through the secret passage he had entered from, leaving Lazard along with the prince. “Angeal must be stopped. If he is allowed to continue to conspire with my bastard brother we shall all be in danger.”

“What do you plan, your Grace?” Lazard asked, feeling the rhythm of his heart begin to pound in his neck.

“You will see in time. Go, but stay close. I will call you back when I have need of you again.”

Lazard bowed lowly and questioned no further. He left his prince in his chambers via the proper entrance and made his way to his old boyhood rooms. 

******* 

“You’ve been staring at this for a long time now; are you sure you don’t want to give up?” Squall smiled crookedly across the chess board and languidly raised his arm to rest his chin in his hand. It was early in the evening, but they had been playing silently for many hours and Squall was growing uncomfortable in his chair.

“I’m thinking,” Cloud replied unamused and unfazed by the Gaian’s subtle taunting. He raised an unimpressed eyebrow as he looked up at his opponent and gave him a withering look. “You’ve not beaten me yet, Gaian, you needn’t look so smug.”

“It is acceptable to admit defeat. I will not think less of you if you do,” Squall raised his brows and pointed with his chin down at the impossible and desperate situation he had backed the captain into. He had devastated Cloud’s pieces, and now only his king and a few solitary pawns stood between Squall, his queen, and victory. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” 

Squall shrugged and lowered his hand, sitting up a little straighter in his chair to ease the tight knots in between his shoulders, “I have anticipated all your moves; you cannot win. It might be better for you to give up now.”

“I thought you said there was always choice?” Cloud reminded him, sitting back in his chair to study him.

“And there is: surrender is also a choice. It may keep you alive for the next battle.”

Cloud inclined his head as if in thought. After a few more moments he reached out his hand and lay his king down, officially forfeiting the game with a withered sigh of defeat.

“You make a compelling argument,” he said, glancing up to catch Squall’s victorious smile, “Is it experience you speak from, or your people’s infamous wisdom?” Cloud had meant his remark to be taken in jest, but the Gaian’s upturned lips thinned out and his smile faded, and he met Cloud’s gaze with an unreadable expression, his mood shifting subtly in a matter of moments.

“You speak of my capture along the borders,” he said, his voice quiet but not quite offended. “I allowed myself to be taken, yes,” Squall began and Cloud immediately realised his mistake, “But I fought hard when they ambushed us,” the Gaian’s face flashed briefly with pain before it became smooth and neutral once again, “Griever’s death… it was a blow to me; I felt I could not be parted with him even though I knew he was gone. I did not know what to do for the best,” Squall admitted, a look of unmistakable hurt flashing in his eyes as he picked up his winning queen and set it back into its proper place on the board. 

“I’m sorry, that’s not what I… I didn’t mean…” Cloud stuttered, his cheeks heating with embarrassment.

“But you are right. I chose to surrender and live when I could have fought and died,” Squall was gracious enough to offer a small smile, “I question the wisdom of that choice every day.”

Cloud offered his own consolatory smile before he looked away and rested his gaze on his fallen king, “I’m sorry, that was not my meaning,” he apologised again trying to imagine the terror and fear Squall must have felt as he’d been hunted down. “Could you have fought them any other way, without Griever, I mean? Your people have an affinity with magic, do you not?”

Squall shook his head and finished resetting his side of the board, “Our magic is tied to our Guardians. Once severed from them we lose our ability to wield it; we lose our connection to everything. It is like being struck both blind and deaf. That is the only way I can describe it.”

Cloud shook his head and began to reset his own side, carefully turning and considering each piece as he put them back on the board.

“It’s strange,” he began, “Growing up I heard such tales of your people and the things you could do. My nurse maid would frighten us with threats of Gaian’s walking through walls to steal us away if we were bad. She said you could read minds, and see into the future simply by reading the palm of a hand.”

Squall snorted, a genuine smile of amusement lightening his face. 

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we are not so talented. It is true that we communicate with our Guardian’s through the mind, but that connection limited; it is a gift only between one Gaian and their Guardian. I could no more read your thoughts than I could see what was on the other side of that wall,” Squall gestured towards the door that led to the main corridor outside Cloud’s rooms.

“And foretelling my future?” Cloud enquired pleased that his thoughtless words had not offended Squall. He was finding him easier company of late – whatever awkwardness and hostility had been between them to begin with was fading – and he realised that he felt relaxed in another’s company for the first time in a long time. The very fact that other’s company should be the barbaric enemy Gaian had not escaped Cloud’s notice, and the irony amused him. 

“A simple child’s game,” Squall shrugged, “There are only a few of us with the gift of foresight. My Matron has it, but we read palms to amuse one another, nothing more.”

“Your Matron?” Cloud enquired, an undeniable tug of curiosity pulling at his features. 

“Is this not the right word?” Squall asked cocking his head to the side in his amusing manner of incomprehension, “She is our leader, but more than that; like a mother. We look to her for guidance and knowledge. She is the most powerful of our clan.”

“Like a queen?” Cloud asked, fascinated by the Gaian’s words.

Squall snorted again, “No. Matron does not pretend to claim ownership of the land. She is Gaian. It is her sacred duty to protect it; to nurture it. She must ensure balance in the earth or life cannot flourish. She ensures we all do our part to sustain the world and there are many like her in other clans. No one Gaian is ruler of all.”

“There are many clans of Gaian?” 

“Of course. Are there not many clans here in Midgar?” Squall asked.

Cloud smiled at the Gaian’s obvious and simple logic. Always it surprised him when he was reminded just how far from a child he was, and with every revelation, Cloud saw him in a softer, subtler light. 

“There are five provinces that make up Midgar,” he explained, enjoying how Squall seemed to listen so intently, “Avalanche, Hollow Bastion, Twilight, Atlantis and The Pride Lands,” Cloud counted them off on his fingers, “Within them are many towns and cities and all are governed by Barons, except for here at Avalanche where the king rules.”

“How does he keep such power so far away from these places?” Squall asked incredulous.

“His Barons,” Cloud explained picking up both of his bishops from the chess board, “They swear fealty and send him men for his armies. In return the king protects them; gives them land and power. But they must fight for him if he ever calls,” Cloud placed the bishops down on the board and moved them in a diagonal motion, demonstrating the defensive and protective nature of the pieces. He left them in the middle of the board and picked up his knights. “The captains of his armies were chosen from each of these lands; General Sephiroth from Hollow Bastion, Angeal from Twilight, Genesis from The Pride Lands, and Bannock from Atlantis. They were Shinra’s concession to the Barons to ensure they would remain loyal to their homelands,” Cloud placed the knights next to the bishops, though four squares apart and in an L formation on either side. 

“And what of you?” Squall asked, looking up from Cloud’s visual explanation, “Are you not a captain also?”

Cloud was quiet for a time, staring hard at the pieces, before he pointed to the pawn in front of the king and nudged it out slightly onto the next square, so that it sat some way back from the important pieces and their opening gambit in the middle of the board.

“I am a mistake; a loose end that needed tying up,” he said, looking up and seeing Squall’s confusion. “King Shinra did not plan on having a bastard son. When I was born and brought to the castle I was hidden away until I was sixteen. By that time, everyone at court knew of his bastard and it was embarrassing to try and keep me a secret any longer. So I was given a small contingency of men. They named it The Fifth and we were charged with keeping the lands clear of wild beasts and monsters. My captaincy is a joke, given to me to humour the expectation of the court, though it is generally considered more of a slight; men do not dream of fighting for The Fifth,” he added.

Squall stared at Cloud as he spoke, trying his best to soak in the meaning of his words, though he found it difficult to follow sometimes. But he thought he understood well enough, and the concept of such disrespect and underhanded mockery was entirely foreign to him. 

“I find it hard to understand your people,” he said, glancing down at the chess board. It wasn’t the hierarchy he couldn’t fathom, but the disharmony and hatred. Loyalty gained by coercion was no loyalty at all, and Squall marvelled at how their world did not crumble to pieces around them. “In my country we are all as important as each other. No one is higher than the rest. Even Matron is equal to the blacksmith or the scribe.”

Cloud was quite for a time as he thought over Squall’s words and he stared off into the fire, his sullen mood which had fallen over him whilst explaining his own position in life was shifted as he tried to imagine the world Squall was describing. It was no longer surprising for him to know that most of what he had learnt of the Gaians was false, but he was still intrigued nonetheless. The idea of a sovereign-less country was baffling to him, and he wondered how a land filled with such powerful people did not tear themselves apart without a king to rule them. But yet he had to admit that if all Gaians were as Squall was, then he could believe a peaceful nation was possible. It would leave them vulnerable to Shinra’s attack, Cloud thought with no small spike of concern, but there was little that could be done about his father’s plans either way. The tide of Shinra’s wrath and greed would fall upon Balamb regardless. 

Cloud shook his head and realised they had been sitting quietly enjoying each other’s silence for a long while, and he took the time to study Squall’s profile from the corner of his vision. He still could not believe that the Gaian was any older than seventeen. His very nature seemed young and innocent. Yet there could be no denying the profound wisdom he seemed to carry in his very bearing. It impressed Cloud and he felt his curiosity stirring once again as he longed to understand more of his strange companion.

“You said you read each other’s palms as children; for fun and to amuse you?” he said suddenly, drawing Squall’s attention away from the fire. Squall nodded, blinking slowly, and Cloud reached out his hand and rested it palm upwards by the side of the chess board. 

“Will you show me?”

Squall stared down at Cloud’s outstretched hand and then flicked his gaze back up, a small wry smile tugging at his lips.

“Are you certain?” he asked making no move to touch him, “Simply knowing your future can be enough to condemn you to it,” Squall’s playful words were strangely ominous, and Cloud felt a curious tingle run along his spine.

“I am not afraid of a child’s game,” Cloud replied, his eyes never wavering from Squall’s, whose smile broadened as he reached out and took Cloud’s hand into his own. He leaned forwards and bent over slightly, peering down into Cloud’s palm and gave a show of inspecting the lines. He traced the spidery patterns with the flat of his thumb and Cloud felt the sensation chase up his arm and prickle his skin. The Gaian’s hands were cold but gentle, his touch feather light and careful as he finished his inspection and gave a little hum in thought. 

“Your heart line is good and strong,” he began, peering up through his bangs, the action wrinkling his forehead slightly and deepening the scar that sat between his eyes, “It shows you are courageous and will do important things.”

Cloud swallowed thickly and found he had to concentrate intently on what the Gaian was saying, his gaze drifting to the way Squall’s lips formed the words so close to his hand; he imagined he could almost feel his breath on his skin. 

“Your head line, it stops here,” Squall indicated to Cloud’s middle finger and ran his thumb over a callous formed from many years of holding a sword, “This means you think too much. It may be a bad thing for you.”

Cloud gave a small breathy laugh.

“But here, your life line…” Squall trailed off and hesitated, turning his head slightly to look at the captain’s hand at a different angle, his fine brows drawn down over intelligent eyes as he studied his palm.

“What? What is it?” Cloud asked, sitting forward slightly to see.

“It stops here, as if cut off by something, only to reappear again here,” Squall said as he lifted his head and found Cloud much closer now, their faces only inches apart.

“What does it mean?” Cloud asked, his gaze flickering as he stared at Squall.

The Gaian did not answer straight away. He seemed to be considering the captain, evaluating a part of him that was hidden deep within, and Cloud felt exposed and vulnerable. 

“I do not know,” Squall replied eventually, shaking his head and breaking the moment, “As I said, I’m not gifted with foresight,” he sat back a little but did not let go of Cloud’s hand. He looked down at it cradled between his own and he closed his fingers around it, “But I can see that you are a good person. That is clear.”

The giddy whimsy Cloud had felt only moments before faded and he pulled his hand from the Gaian’s grasp, severing their contact. 

“As you’ve said,” he murmured, his voice suddenly thick and gravely, “Nothing but a child’s game,” he smiled awkwardly. 

Squall did not fail to see the light of amusement die in the captain’s eyes and he wondered if it had been caused by his words, his thoughts turned to his encounter with Aerith on the stairs almost a week ago. The woman’s warning had troubled him deeply and as he sat and watched the captain he couldn’t help but wonder at the maid’s insinuation. 

“Your friends are worried about you,” he said, drawing his hands back into his lap. Cloud looked up at him, his gaze once again wary and veiled.

“They have no need to be. I’m fine.”

“They say you spend too much time alone.”

Cloud sighed and absently rubbed at the palm of his hand where Squall had touched him, running his thumb gently against the patch of skin that still tingled faintly. “No more than is normal; for me at least,” he replied, trying to force another false smile of reassurance. The gesture was hollow and both of them saw it for what it was. 

“In my country, my people cannot bear to be alone,” Squall said after a few moments of silence. “We must find solace and peace in the companionship of another, no matter who that person might be,” Squall chose his words carefully, mindful that he still had trouble with the Midgarian tongue. He did not wish to be inelegant – or indiscreet – as Aerith had put it. But he felt the echo of the captain’s loneliness and felt saddened that it should be caused by so much fear of something so natural.

Cloud’s gaze narrowed and sharpened and Squall’s heart beat a tiny bit faster. 

“Your people are very fortunate then,” Cloud’s reply was quiet and the captain’s words released a flood of something like relief through Squall. The Gaian shifted nervously and looked away from Cloud’s penetrative stare, filing the sensation and its possible meaning away for later consideration. 

*******

Aerith stirred at the feel of a warm hand caressing her shoulder, and slowly woke from a light sleep; hazy images of a half remembered dream clinging to the edges of her mind. The hand was replaced by moist lips and with a lazy smile she turned and looked up at Zack, who smiled down at her as he watched her wake.

"How long have you been staring?" she asked, turning into his chest as she brushed her bangs back from her face.

"I wasn't staring. I was admiring," Zack corrected her, placing a kiss to her forehead.

Aerith's room was chilly and bare and he pulled the woollen blanket up a little higher around her shoulders, tucking her neatly into his side. He'd missed her; these simple moments they shared were so few and far between and his thoughtless words all those weeks ago had not helped their frequency. He was just glad to have her back in his arms, and he rested his chin on her head and closed his eyes.

"We'd better not stay too long. Holy knows Elmyra will be hunting for me already. If she catches us here her poor heart will give out; you know you're not allowed in the servant's cells."

"You're trying to get rid of me again, aren't you?" Zack teased, recalling the previous two times Aerith had tried to get him to leave. That had been hours ago, and the sun was coming up now.

"Mmmm, maybe a few more moments then," Aerith snaked her arm around Zack's waist and squeezed him tight, soaking in his heat, and pressed her lips to his chest.

Zack chuckled and let his mind drift, content to plan his day from the comfort of Aerith's bed. He'd meant to seek out Angeal while he heard he was at Avalanche, only to discover his boyhood mentor and friend had returned to Corel just as quick as he'd arrived, and the man's actions stirred his curiosity. It had been several years since he'd seen him and he'd been more than a little perturbed to discover he'd not thought of setting some time aside to see his old protégé. Yet other concerns had kept Zack's mind focused elsewhere and he'd forgotten about the man's strange visit. Now though, he recalled the second bizarre incident in relation to his old friend and his eyes flickered open with a soft frown.

"Aerith?" he questioned softly, his lover's reply coming in the form of a soft hum, "I saw something strange yesterday and I wondered if you knew anything about it; if you'd heard anything from the Prince's servants?"

Aerith lifted her head a little and looked up at the soldier, "Strange?" she questioned, sensing his hesitant thoughts.

"Lord Lazard arrived from Corel a week ago. Sora mentioned he was here to see the Prince."

"What's strange about that? The Prince keeps odd enough company, everyone knows that, Lazard is the least of them."

"It's not that," Zack pulled away a little and sat up, resting his head against the wall as Aerith made herself comfy again. "He arrived on his own, but when he left, he took another person with him: a woman. No one has ever seen her before or could remember her arriving."

"A woman?" Aerith seemed surprised and she too sat up, pulling the blankets around her breast, "What did she look like?"

Zack hesitated, recalling her image from his memory before he spoke. "She had short, fair hair. Not like the ladies at court. But cut for ease, not to look pretty. She wore no colours and she had weapons with her: a bow and longsword. I thought she might have been a hunter, but what would Lazard want with a hunter?"

Aerith thought about the question for a long while, eventually conceding that she had no idea what it could mean before she turned to Zack and shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps you're just reading into things too much. There are plenty of strange things that happen here and nothing ever comes of them."

Zack didn't look like he wanted to let the matter rest, but when he could think of no argument he sighed and shook his head. "Perhaps you're right. Did you managed to speak to Cloud?" changing the subject quickly he watched how Aerith rolled her eyes at him and smiled.

"Yes I did," Aerith replied, clambering over him to find her clothes scattered about on the floor. She hoped none of them where ripped or she'd have Calamity to pay from Elmyra.

"And?" Zack pressed, filing his hands behind his head as he sat back and watched her hop elegantly from on long leg to the other, a small smirk colouring his lips.

"And nothing. I told you he only listens when he wants to. He bare enough told me to butt out and leave him alone. He'll come out of hiding when he's good and ready, Zack. Or when the King commands it. Not before."

Zack sighed in frustration and not even the sight of Aerith half-naked, skirts slung around her curved hips as she attempted to untangle her long hair, could stir him from his dowdy mood. "This depression of his is beginning to irritate me," he grumbled, swinging his own legs out of bed, "There was a time I could persuade him to take a ride out with me to the Silver River, or go hunting up on the moors, and he'd be back to his old self again. His sulks grow deeper the older he gets."

"Well, have you thought that maybe he's not sulking?" Aerith said, sidestepping a flirtatious swing of Zack's arm as he tried to smack her on the behind as he picked up his own scattered clothes. "Maybe these aren't just childish moods anymore, Zack. Maybe there's something really the matter with him."

Zack snorted, "Oh there's something the matter with him alright, I just wish I knew what it was."

"You're being unkind," Aerith said as she slipped her arms into her dress and pulled it up over her shoulders. It hung open around her breasts and Zack stopped his own dressing to admire her. She was so beautiful like that: dishevelled and flushed, her face softened by concern and her eyes bright with love. There was not a thing about her that he did not cherish and he pulled her in close. "You know he suffers and you know why. Deep down you know why. Don't make it harder on him by being unkind."

"I know," Zack murmured, cupping her cheek as he tilted her chin to look up at him. Her face was completely open to him and he gazed down at her with ardent affection. "I love you."

She smiled and covered his hand with her own, turning her face to kiss his palm and replied, "And I love you too. But go easy on him. He keeps us at arm’s length because he thinks it for the best. Don't push him."

"When did you get so smart?" Zack asked, wrinkling his nose as he shook his head.

"I've always been the smart one, Zackary Fair. You're the pretty one," she reached up and ruffled his hair and he laughed as he let her go.

They finished dressing and stole another few moments to kiss before they sneaked out the door, checking this way and that along the corridor to make sure they passed unseen before he left her at the top of the stairs that led down to the courtyard below.

"Will I see you again tonight?"

"I don't know if we should. Elmyra will already be-"

"Please?" Zack begged, he large eyes helplessly soulful, his voice almost wining.

Aerith sighed in defeat, "Alright. I'll meet you here at midnight," she kissed him quickly and didn't stop to make sure he'd gone, disappearing herself down the corridor that would take her to the kitchens.

*******

The brief and cheerful sun that had brightened the barren tundra of Avalanche for the last few weeks had utterly disappeared, and what tepid warmth it had brought with it had vanished also. Their summer months had grown shorter and shorter over the years; the snows refusing to melt until well into Jenova's Light, until one year they had simply refused to melt at all, and the brightening and then slow darkening of the days had been the only way the people of Midgar could tell the passing of the years.

There were those who believed that this new winter would last forever and that summer was a long forgotten memory; that the earth itself had abandoned the sun's warmth. Cloud saw it for what it was: a punishment and he had long wondered if his tyrant father was the cause.

The captain marched across frosted ground, slipping through the tilt yard, and ignored the cries of greeting from his men as he made his way to the barracks. Flurries of snow and fog stung his eyes and he cursed the bitter wind that stole through his thick woollen jerkin. His friends wondered why he did not venture out much; the freezing weather was reason enough.

"Barret!" He called, spotting his sword master ducking out from one of the short, squat rooms.

The barracks were square shaped with large courtyards in the centre, each room holding five men and their tack and equipment. In a room overlooking the courtyard and elevated in a small tower, the captain's rooms oversaw everything. Cloud had given his to Barret with a proviso that he run The Fifth when not on patrol and see the running of the barracks when Cloud was pulled away by duty to the King. It had been an honour for the one armed man; a chance he'd never thought a cripple like him would ever receive.

Cloud could recall Zack’s knowing smile as he'd effectively halved his friends duties and had potentially diluted Zack’s authority.

'I understand,' Zack had told him, placing a warm hand on his shoulder, 'You're a good man, Cloud.'

"Spikey!" Barret bellowed, his large grin eclipsing his face, "What brings you down here?"

"I heard my men were starting to talk," Cloud replied with a wry grin, "Thought I'd better come down and show my face."

Barret was a bear of a man and it took all of Cloud's strength not to stagger forwards as he clapped him on the back. "And I thought you'd just missed me."

"Did you get those new attack formation plans I sent down?" Cloud ignored the jest.

"Sure did. Your little northern demon brought them down weeks ago. Been practicing with the men."

"How are they?"

"Work like a charm. Gonna take the men out and test it on the tundra next week. Gotta wait for this blasted fog to lift first."

Cloud nodded, "Take Lord Fair with you this time. He's been moping about the castle for too long. He's starting to poke his nose into my business."

Barret grinned and let out a deep, rich chuckle, "It’s not the only business he's been poking, if you get my meaning," His eyes twinkled, "Been having some trouble with his lady. She's finally comin' back round though: haven't seen the pair of 'em since sundown yesterday."

Cloud raised an eyebrow. "That's probably more than I needed to know, but thank you for the report," he added.

Barret let out a loud peel of laughter and Cloud braced himself again as the man clapped him on the back. They walked through their usual inspection of the barracks, each man jumping to attention as they passed the rooms and chose a couple at random to turn over.

By the time they were done the morning had passed and Cloud was on his way back to the castle when he spotted Squall.

The Gaian was shuffling his way slowly from the orchards; barren of any fruit or foliage for the last seven years and only the spindly skeletons of the trees were left behind. Nobody walked in the orchards anymore and Cloud thought they were a mournful and haunted place. But Squall had told him that the trees brought him comfort and he noticed now how the Gaian walked with a slow and uneasy gait. He walked as if pained or still shackled with chains and Cloud kept close as he watched him pass the stables and amble across the tilt yard before stopping at the bottom of the steps that led up to the kitchens, as if he were struggling to catch his breath. Following closely behind with a concerned frown, watching him carefully, Cloud waited for the Gaian to slowly trudge up the steps and disappear into the castle. After a few moments, Cloud did the same, wanting to stay back a little ways in case his worries were unnecessary. He caught up with him again in the kitchens, and hung back to watch which door he would leave through. Cloud was well aware that he looked suspicious; he never set foot in the kitchens and his presence was already being noted by some of the servants, but he ignored them and concentrated on keeping his line of sight to Squall clear.

When he was sure that the door he'd disappeared through was the one to his own rooms, and that Squall would not be coming back, Cloud pushed his shoulder off the wall and followed.

The coiling stairwell was empty of sounds and Cloud stopped to listen at the bottom. When he could hear nothing he began to climb, gradually speeding up and taking two at a time until he came to a small landing and the hunched figure of Squall slumped against the wall, breathing heavily. He knelt down and placed his hand on the Gaian's shoulder, his presence already discovered by the way Squall lifted his chin slightly, but his eyes were shut, and his brow was starting to sweat. His skin looked pale and clammy, with a sickly blue tinge around his lips and nose and as Cloud touched him he noticed the slight trembling in his shoulders.

"Squall, are you alright?" he breathed, watching his face intently.

Squall shook his head, his eyes squeezing shut tighter as if the action caused him pain, "I do not know."

A spike of concern lanced through Cloud's stomach at Squall's reedy voice and he moved a hand up to press his palm against the Gaian's forehead. "You're freezing," he mumbled grasping at Squall's blue fingertips as well. "Can you stand?"

Squall did not answer right away but eventually he gave a shallow nod of his head, "I think so."

Using Cloud's shoulders for support, Squall levered himself up and gave a pained groan as he swayed and then fell against the wall.

Cloud caught him, steadying him as the Gaian's dizziness passed and with a small huff of effort, Squall pushed off the wall and began to climb again, his steps slow and weary.

By the time they reached the top, he was leaning heavily against Cloud, the effort of his exertion clear on his strained face and Cloud hurriedly guided him towards the fire, lowering him as gently as he could to sit on the fur rug in front of the hearth.

"Would you like me to find Aerith?" Cloud asked after Squall's heavy breathing had eased a little.

"No," the Gaian shook his head, "I do not want her to know I am sick."

"But... surely... you can't-"

"I will be alright," Squall interrupted forcefully. The vehemence in his voice seemed to sap what energy he had left and he slumped slightly to the side. "I will be alright, in a little while," Squall added a little out of breath, unable to control the small tremors that shook his body.

At a loss for what to do, Cloud let him rest against him, and waited until the Gaian would recover.

Slowly, eventually, Squall's trembling stopped and all Cloud could hear was the deep and laboured breathing of the Gaian. He raised his hand and pressed his palm against Squall's forehead again and although it was still slick with sweat he was at least a little warmer. He moved his hand down to the back of his neck, noting how much Squall's hair had grown in the months he had been at Avalanche, and how it now stuck in knotted tangles to his clammy skin. But he was warmer there too and Cloud was satisfied that he was recovering.

"Are you well?" he asked, his deep voice rumbling through his chest to vibrate against Squall's cheek.

The Gaian sat up, keeping his balance well though Cloud thought he still looked fragile. Raking a hand through his hair, Squall nodded feebly and licked his dry lips. "I'm alright now," he replied his throat a little hoarse.

Cloud rose to his knees, shuffling round slightly so that he was facing the Gaian and he looked at him closely. The blue tinge around his features had disappeared and there was a little more colour in his cheeks. But he was still deathly pale and the dark shadows under his eyes made him look gaunt.

"Is this how it happens?" Cloud asked quietly, watching the fear and sadness shimmer in Squall's eyes as he stared back, "When a Gaian loses their Guardian, is this how you perish?"

Squall barely had the strength to stop his lips from trembling and he looked away, ashamed that his fear was so close to the surface.

"I do not know. But I suspect that it is," his voice was weak and he bit the inside of his cheek to distract himself from his feeble feelings.

Cloud could read the terror on the Gaian's face as easily as words on a page, and he was moved to a deep sadness as he reached out and cupped Squall's cheek. He didn't know what could be done. He felt that there might have been something meaningful to convey to him but the words wouldn't come, so he shuffled closer instead and drew the Gaian into an awkward embrace; pressing the side of his face against Squall's in an effort to comfort him.

The prisoner hesitated at first, reluctant to accept any form of reassurance when he was feeling so weak, but he couldn't deny that the contact felt warm and good. He had been held against his will at the castle for so long and the only time anyone had touched him was in fear or anger; only Aerith had offered him her friendship and occasional embraces. To be held as Cloud held him now was like a relief, and he couldn't bring himself to pull away even as he felt the captain's lips against his temple.

The kiss was quick and fumbled. Within the space of a few moments Cloud's lips had moved from Squall's cheek to find his mouth and he pressed an unsure and tentative caress there. He waited a few moments, to see if Squall would respond, and when he felt nothing but the Gaian's laboured breathing he pulled away quickly, his eyes wide with startled regret. They looked at each other, gauging the forbidden thing that had just passed between them, and Cloud hurriedly drew his hand back from Squall's cheek as if burnt.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, licking his lips and looking away quickly, "I don't know what... I didn't mean," he chanced a glance back up and found Squall watching him closely, his face unreadable and fear overtook him immediately. "You must not speak of this," Cloud warned, afraid for the repercussions of his foolish mistake.

"Why would I?" Squall spoke, his eyes still swimming with unreadable thoughts.

"You... you're not angry... that I..." Cloud could not bring himself to say it.

"If I speak, they will kill you. I do not want you dead," Squall answered carefully, knowing now that Aerith's suspicions were true and that the captain did indeed live in fear of his life. Cloud was silent. The Gaian's words had a paralysing effect on him. They sobered him quickly and he felt instantly ill. "This is why you are lonely here, I think," Squall continued, his tone even and confident in his own musings, "Because you are different. You are not like the others, but this is your home; you cannot leave and be without your people, yet you cannot stay and be who you are. So you are torn. You are unhappy."

Cloud could only stare at his knees dumbly. He had never before been able to articulate his feelings of isolation; always he'd assumed it was his heritage that had set him apart from the rest of his people. Yet Squall had managed to read him so much better than anyone else ever had - better than he could understand himself - and now that his loneliness had been so acutely pinpointed he briefly wondered how he might ever return to his normal life.

"I thought... That you might understand," he tried to explain, his shock giving way to a deep rooted terror that he realised had always been there and was only now just finding its voice. "You said that your people... they cannot bear to be alone..."

Squall sat back and leant heavily against the solid chair behind him and looked down at his hands in his lap and sighed. "I understand," he agreed, wanting Cloud to know that despite the fear and isolation he had grown up in, there were people in the world that were like him, "but you must understand also: you are still my enemy. So long as I am prisoner here, I cannot forget that."

Cloud was wounded by the Gaian's words. He hadn't realised when he'd stopped thinking of Squall as a soulless savage from the north but the thought hardly mattered now. Squall still feared him, possibly even hated him in some small way, and he was immensely sorry for that fact.

"I see," he mumbled sulkily. He stood quickly meaning to disappear and leave behind his terrible mistake when a knock at his chamber doors stole both of their attention.

The guards did not wait for Cloud's permission to enter, but barged in, their gazes immediately drawn to the Gaian on the floor by the fire and the captain who stood over him.

"What do you want?" Cloud barked his eyes flicking down to the set of chains one of the men carried at his side, a rebuke on his tongue for their disrespect, but their words distracted him.

"The Barons have arrived. The King demands the presence of the Gaian."

Cloud was forced to take a step back and watch helplessly as the guards pulled Squall to his feet. He did not struggle and Cloud was unsure whether that was because of his weakened state or if he had chosen to go quietly, but he recognised the look on Squall's face as he passed. Back in his chains and being brought before the King once again, he was giving up, and the look of submission in his eyes turned Cloud's blood cold.

"The King demands your presence, too," the guard said over his shoulder, breaking Cloud's train of thought. With a small shake of his head, Cloud tried to put what had just happened out of his mind, ignoring his regret and disappointment, he followed the guards as they hurried Squall along through the castle towards the council chambers.


	10. Chapter 10

Squall tripped over his feet a few times as he was pushed along the corridor and manhandled through the heavy oak doors into the council chamber. His legs felt weak and rubbery, and he felt he might collapse at any moment had the guards on either side of him not been holding him up. But his heart began to hammer in his chest as the doors were pulled apart to reveal the room beyond them and the men gathered around the table, looking at him as he was shoved forwards and then pushed to his knees. 

Around the table sat five men, and Squall’s eyes were immediately drawn to the cold and icy stare of the King, who was stationed at the head of the table, his chair far more elaborate and impressive than the others, and his frame was eclipsed by his furs and linens that were swathed around him in folds of black and grey. To his right sat four men; their scarlet robes intricate with embroidered gold thread. Two of them wore long white hair, yet their faces were not old, and the third man was horribly scarred, his right eye covered with an eyepatch and his long dark hair was pulled back into the nape of his neck. The fourth was entirely bald and his eyes seemed wild with madness, set deep into his skull as if sunken. To the King’s left sat his son, his own scarred face still and impassive as he looked down at the Gaian on his knees. 

Their attentions were broken as Cloud entered behind Squall, and the captain slowed momentarily as he took in the sight before him. 

“We’re honoured that you could spare the time to join us, captain,” Shinra sneered coolly as he lifted a hand to indicate the seat next to the prince. Cloud inclined his head and spared the Gaian a small glance, his brows furrowed in concern as he noticed the sickly pale colour had returned to his features. 

“This is the Gaian you have been boasting about?” one of the white haired men said with a curled lip as he looked to the King, “He looks half dead already.”

“Do not let his appearance deceive you, Ansem. He has been more than a handful to contain,” Shinra replied, an amused smile breaking his stony features. 

“I must admit, I was expecting something a little more… ferocious; something more than a mere boy,” Ansem waved his hand dismissively and the other three Barons nodded their heads subtly in agreement.

“It matters little how old he is, he will suit your purpose. You will find all the answer you seek.”

“We shall see about that,” Ansem replied as he signalled for the guards to bring the Gaian closer. 

They hauled Squall to his feet and the young Gaian had to squeeze his eyes closed to stop the world from tilting with the sudden action as he was dragged around the table and dropped to his knees once again before the Baron’s, who turned in their chairs to observe him. 

Cloud watched with a wary eye from across the table as Ansem stood, pushing his chair back with an ominous scrapping sound that filled the silent chamber, and glided around it drawing close to Squall with one easy and measured step. He lifted the Gaian’s chin with a long fingered hand and even from his place across the table, Cloud could see the barely guarded fear and exhaustion in Squall’s eyes as he looked up at the Baron. He was shivering again, and Cloud could see the effort it took for Squall to remain kneeling, holding himself as still as he could. Cloud balled his hands into fists and tried to ignore the way Rufus was staring at him, watching his features closely with one unscrupulous eye. 

“How poetic,” Ansem mused, almost as if to himself as he lightly traced the scar that ran across Squall’s nose with a delicate finger, “That the doom of your people should be held within such a pretty head.”

Squall’s eyes hardened, and despite his weakened state he snatched his face from the Baron’s grip and glared up at him.

“I will not give you what you want,” he spoke carefully, his voice low and full of venom. 

All within the chamber were taken aback by the Gaian’s words except for Cloud, whose heart fluttered with tentative pride but was quickly doused with icy trepidation at Ansem’s next words. 

“You will,” he said slowly, bending at the middle to grip Squall’s face again, “Even if I have to prise it from the very depths of your mind with my own bare hands,” Ansem’s threat was followed by a small struggle as Squall attempted to pull away once again, his short burst of energy depleted quickly as the guards pushed down on his shoulders and Ansem hooked his hands onto either side of Squall’s face, his fingers disappearing into his hairline as he spread them out and pressed his thumbs against Squall’s cheeks. The room stilled again, and Cloud’s eyes slipped to Ansem’s face, his heart pounding in his throat as he watched the Baron’s eyes slide closed and his lips start to move in a soundless murmur. Slowly, the air in the chamber began to shimmer, coalescing around the figures of Ansem and Squall knelt on the floor, and like a shadow that slipped along the cold walls of a darkened corridor, the shimmering effect faded and Squall’s eyes closed and his mouth opened in a soundless scream.

Inside his head, Squall was in agony. The world around him had faded and then had been violently ripped away to leave him adrift in a black void, weightless and disorientated, yet the feeling of being suffocated was undeniable. He felt as if he was being pressed down upon and crushed under an unimaginable weight, and when the whispered voice spoke in his head it resonated like a thunderous boom, shattering his mind like a hammer on an anvil. 

Show me the way… it spoke, and Squall could feel icy fingers begin to penetrate his memories, sifting through moments in his life and discarding them carelessly, ripping them from their roots and scattering them into the void around them as the voice spoke again, Show me the way into Balamb… Squall couldn’t help it. The pain and dominance of the command cleaved a path right the way through his thoughts towards the memory of his journey from Balamb, along the foothills towards the Tomb of the Unknown King and through the mountain passage into Midgar. With a whimpered cry he desperately tried to hold onto it, but the memory disappeared into the blackness like water through his fingers and the place in his mind where it had been nestled burned like an open wound.

The void around him trembled and vibrated with an amused chuckle, the tremors rattling Squall’s abused mind sending sharp jolts of agony into his incorporeal form that froze his limbs and locked them into tight contractures; wave after wave of pain radiated along his paralyzed body until the laughter died and the blackness faded and eventually the council chamber came back into view. 

Squall collapsed the moment Ansem let go and he fell to the side in a puddle of his own cold sweat and piss. His skin burned and his mind was a terrifying black hole of nothingness as he struggled to recall where he was. His limbs were dead weights and he could barely lift his hands to pull himself away, only succeeding in scrabbling uselessly against the cold flagstone floor as the shadow above him stepped away. 

“Well?” Shinra asked languidly with a raised eyebrow as he sat with his chin in his hand.

“He will do nicely indeed,” Ansem agreed, nodding his head as he sat himself back down in his chair.

Cloud was breathing heavily through his nose, his jaw clenched to hold back the scream of protest that sat behind his teeth as he’d watched Squall struggle. The scream that had been ripped from him had rattled the silence in the chamber and Cloud had been forced to hide his fists under the table, his bloodied palms a sure give away that he had been far too affected by the Gaian’s torture. 

“Very well,” Shinra smiled, straightening in his chair as he signalled the guards to pick the prisoner up, “Take him to The Bowels. Ansem will need a space to undertake his work.”

Cloud lurched forwards slightly, catching Rufus’ attention as the prince watched the captain’s reaction to the Gaian being hauled to his feet. When Squall collapsed back to the ground in a boneless heap, Cloud stood hurriedly, only catching himself before it was too late.

“I will take him,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “He will need Merlin’s assistance if you want whatever else is in his mind,” Cloud was no wizard, but he knew that Squall would not survive Ansem’s touch again unless he was healed now in some way; Merlin was their only hope to bring Squall any measure of comfort. 

Shinra stared at Cloud, his gaze steely and unwavering as he considered his bastard son’s request and with a slight nod he agreed, “Very well then, take him.”

Shinra dismissed him with a flap of his hand and Cloud forced himself not to hurry around to the opposite side of the table. He crouched down next to Squall and gently scooped him up. He was heavy and motionless in his arms as he attempted to shake him back to consciousness, and with a small breath of relief he watched as Squall’s eyes flickered open. 

“Can you stand?” he murmured, conscious of the rest of the room as they turned back to the table and resumed their meeting. Squall gazed up at him, confused and disoriented and with a weak shake of his head he gave his answer. Cloud tried to sit him up, cushioning him against his chest as Squall gripped weakly to his arm with his shackled hands, but it was soon apparent that even this small task was too much for the damaged Gaian. Quickly, and as quietly as he could, Cloud gathered him up and raised him into his arms, letting Squall’s head rest against his shoulder as he carried him from the council chambers, Shinra’s two guards following behind him as they left. Once they were in the corridor, Cloud turned to the man on his left, his tone low and urgent as he shifted Squall’s weight closer to his chest.

“Find Merlin and bring him to The Bowels,” he turned and locked his gaze with the other guard, who was staring at him with undisguised disgust. “And you find Aerith, tell her I need her help,” Cloud didn’t stop to check that they were carrying out his orders. He left immediately, reluctantly following the corridors that would lead him downwards and into the cold heart of Avalanche. 

*******

There was not much light to see by down in the depths of The Bowels. They lay deep underground where no natural light could penetrate and the cold and moisture clung to the walls where shadows flickered. Despite his heavy load and the effort it took to carry him, Cloud was shivering by the time he reached the cells. He placed Squall down into a pile of half rotted straw; carefully brushing his sweat soaked bangs back he tilted his face towards the light of the torch in the sconce. Squall was unconscious again, and Cloud quickly pressed his fingers against Squall’s neck, reassured by the slow but steady heartbeat. Gently, he patted the side of Squall’s face and tried to wake him.

“Squall, can you hear me?” he called softly but firmly. 

When Squall stirred Cloud felt relief again, and shuffled himself to sit behind the Gaian so that he was no longer lying on the damp straw, but against Cloud’s chest. 

“Where am I?” Squall asked in his strange language. Cloud could not understand but he recognised the confusion and fear in the words. 

“It’s alright,” he tried to soothe him, “I’ve sent for Merlin.”

The words filtered through to Squall’s fractured mind and he craned his neck around as far as he could to look up at Cloud with a pained expression.

“What happened?” he asked. This time Cloud could understand him. 

“Ansem,” Cloud explained, as if the very name should hold meaning for the Gaian. “He did something to you; something to your mind. You don’t remember?”  
Squall was silent for a long while. “I remember a man with white hair, and then blackness,” Squall’s voice was weak and he closed his eyes as he tried to recall the horrifying events that had just happened from the blank nothingness of his mind. “I remember he was looking for something. He asked me a question and I…” Squall trailed off and Cloud felt him shiver. 

“What did he ask you?” Cloud pressed, knowing full well that the Baron had not uttered a single word while he’d had his hands on Squall, and that the Gaian was speaking of a very dark magic.

“He asked… the way into Balamb,” Squall faltered, a spike of distress making his breathing hitch as he recalled with a sudden flash of clarity what the Baron had been searching for. Cloud’s own concern mirrored the young man’s.

“Did you tell him?” he asked quickly. 

Once again, Squall was silent as he wrestled with his own failure. “I couldn’t help it,” he finally whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut against the memory as a tear broke free from his lashes.

Although he had not held out much hope of Squall being able to withstand such an attack, Cloud felt defeat steal over him. 

“It will be alright,” he tried to soothe, knowing that whatever small hope there had been for Balamb and the people that lived there was now gone. He let Squall weep quietly for a few moments before the Gaian suddenly gasped. 

“It’s gone!”

“What is?” Cloud asked, feeling Squall’s hands tighten around his arm.

“I… I can’t remember…” Squall’s confusing words were drenched in agony and Cloud tried folding his arms around him tighter. “My journey to Midgar… I don’t remember. It’s gone.”

Cloud was about to question him further when he heard a commotion from the doorway and looked up to see the guard he had sent to find Merlin stood there with the wizard in tow. 

“What is all this, let me through,” the bristly old man said as he barged past, knocking the guards shoulder as he shuffled into the room. He marched to where Cloud and Squall were huddled against the back wall of the cell and knelt with a stiff wince, his keen eyes raking over the form of the Gaian as he reached out a hand and placed it against Squall’s forehead. “What happened?” he asked breathlessly. 

“The Barons have come. Ansem cast some sort of spell; I’ve never seen anything like it before. He read Squall’s mind, I don’t know how,” Cloud answered.

“He was in my head,” Squall spoke, switching to his own language as he looked up at the wizard with large frightened eyes. “He took what he wanted, I couldn’t stop him.”

“Shhh, peace young one,” Merlin replied hoping the Gaian’s familiar tongue would calm and soothe the distressed youth.

“It’s gone,” Squall continued. “The memory he took, I can’t recall it. He took it from me!”

Merlin patted Squall’s cheek carefully, looking down at him with kind eyes full of worry and he turned to the guard stood in the doorway. “You, get me some water, quickly,” he snapped, turning to rummage in the small drawstring bag attached to his worn leather belt. He pulled out a few small packets of parchment and carefully unfolded them revealing an assortment of herbs and strange coloured powders inside. When the guard returned and set down a bucket filled with water, Merlin took the rough-hewn ladle that was floating in it and scooped out some water, adding sprinkles of the powders. He cupped the ladle in his hands and spoke softly, blowing his words over the mixture, and Cloud’s eyes grew wide as he saw the water begin to steam. 

“Here, drink this,” he ordered, tilting the spoon towards Squall’s lips. When it was all gone, he put the ladle aside and pressed his hand back against the Gaian’s forehead. “You must not fear, but I will need to see into your mind. Will you allow this?” he asked, watching Squall’s face closely as the young man hesitated and then nodded feebly. 

They closed their eyes and with a ghost of a breath the wizard exhaled slowly and appeared to slip into a trance. 

Inside Squall’s mind was a storm of pain and Merlin flinched back almost immediately. With a gentle breath he released a soothing, calming white light, and slowly, the jagged edges of pain that throbbed and twisted gradually dulled until there was quiet once again, and Merlin felt the grateful and earnest presence of the young Gaian. Even in Squall’s own mind, his essance was weak and it trembled with the aftershocks of agony.

Merlin opened his eyes and took his hand from Squall’s forehead.

“What did you do?” Cloud asked, bewildered at the short exchange which had been nothing like the violent attack from Ansem. 

“Everything I could,” Merlin explained with a small shake of his head. “But it may not be enough. There is nothing I can do for his lost memories, but it should help with the pain.”

Cloud looked down at Squall who had slipped back into unconsciousness, his features softened by the relief from his mental torture.

“Merlin, why would Ansem take Squall’s memory completely?” Cloud asked as he watched the old wizard carefully pack away his things.

Merlin shook his head. “It is a dark and powerful magic he uses. I do not know where he draws it from, but it is not of the Lifestream. He has wounded Squall’s mind quite terribly.”

“But why would he take it? Once he’d seen it surely it wouldn’t matter, he could have just left it where it was,” Cloud pressed. 

“I do not know. I have never seen this type of magic before; I do not know its signature. Maybe it is the nature of the spell, or maybe he has some darker purpose.”

“There is more,” Cloud spoke quickly, remembering the King’s words of Ansem’s work. “Whatever he found in Squall’s mind it was not all of it.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked, fixing the captain with a serious stare.

“Whatever Ansem wants, the way into Balamb is not all of it. He needs something else within Squall’s mind. That’s why he is down here. Ansem intends to interrogate him further.”

“You’re sure of this?”

“Why else would he still need him?” Cloud replied, unconsciously pulling Squall a little closer to him.

“He may not survive much more; he is already dying,” Merlin’s brows twisted in worry.

Cloud had known this fact already, yet hearing the wizard speak it aloud was alarmingly painful and Cloud did not expect the spike of regret and grief that shot through him. “I know,” he managed to reply, though his throat had tightened with emotion. 

“It may be kinder to allow him to slip away now, while he is oblivious and at peace,” Merlin’s words were like a sword through Cloud’s stomach and though he wrestled with the logic in them, he could not bring himself to agree. 

“I have had that thought also,” he admitted with some difficulty, “But I will not unless he asks it of me. There must be some hope for him?”

“What hope do you see while he remains here?” Merlin asked, his face turning soft with gentle admonishment. 

Cloud could not answer and he looked away. 

Once again there was commotion from the doorway and Aerith appeared, taking in the sight of the two men curled together and the old wizard crouched down next to them, and her heart jumped into her throat. 

“What has happened, is Leon alright?” she asked as she fell down beside them and took Squall’s hand. He did not stir and Cloud took his opportunity to slip out from behind him, resting him back against the dank straw as gently as he could. 

“Aerith, I need to speak with you,” Cloud said urgently as he helped the confused woman back to her feet. He drew her away and towards the heat of the torch on the wall and interrupted her attempts to discover what had transpired. 

“Aerith I need you to listen,” he said, gripping her about the shoulders firmly.

The young woman fell silent and stared at the captain.

“I need you to find out if there is anyone from the castle that is travelling to the boarders soon,” Cloud explained, “Preferably Nibelheim, and preferably in a large group, so as to easily hide numbers. 

“What, why?” Aerith asked, bewildered. 

“He cannot stay here any longer,” Cloud replied, glancing over to where Squall lay sleeping. “He’s dying,” it took Cloud a few moments to add. 

“What do you mean he’s dying? He can’t be. What has happened?” Aerith demanded, fear coiling itself around her words. 

“It happened the moment they killed his Guardian, Aerith. There is nothing we can do. He may not make it back to Balamb but if we can get him as close to the boarders as possible, I have a friend who could take care of him. He would be free from this place; near the mountains. It’s the best I can offer.” Cloud said with regret, watching how this news sank in as Aerith’s face fell with the weight of his words. 

“I… but he…” Aerith stuttered.

“Can you do it?” Cloud asked, urgency back in his tone a he shook her slightly.

“I… I will ask. But I don’t know how soon it will be,” Aerith paused and looked over at the Gaian and the wizard who stood over him, watching their exchange with an unobtrusive gaze. “How much longer does he have?”

“I cannot say,” Merlin replied, shaking his head. “But it will be soon.”

Aerith felt a swell of sorrow grip her chest and she breathed deeply, fighting back the tears that sat in her eyes.

“Alright,” she said eventually, her voice wavering. “I’ll do my best.” She watched as Cloud went back to check on Squall one last time, bending to caress his cheek gently as he murmured a quiet promise that he would be back for him. 

All three of them left then, because they could do nothing else, and Cloud went in search of Zack, a small hope glowing in his heart that his lieutenant and life-long friend might help him with his dangerous act of treason.

******* 

Angeal scribbled his warning furiously by candlelight. His chambers were dark and dim, flecked with golden flickers from the small fire on the hearth and a single flame on his desk. The small scrap of paper in front of him bore three lines of scrawled text, the letters were hurried and inelegant, but the warning was clear: 'The King is in his madness and allies us with evil magic. I ride out to meet you.'

Angeal did not bother to sign it; he knew his friends would recognise his hand. They had been brought up together after all. Trained together. They had been forged into men by the sword and Shinra's merciless greed, and Angeal felt their bond go deep. They had spent many years at Avalanche training and fighting; pulled from their homelands and thrust into a service none of them had wanted or asked for. But the King had called and the Barons had answered. One boy from each, to train and grow loyal to the crown and defend its boarders. That had been their task, their vow. And despite the cruel way they had all been torn from their homes, the helpless children had grown tall and strong in that image. Never had they strayed or questioned. Never had they reason to doubt. Shinra had been all they'd known. Avalanche was everything they stood for: loyalty, pride, courage and honour. Above all else, honour. Angeal felt the warring of these things as he wrote his message; the crows in their cage squawked and shrieked out their displeasure, and Angeal was pulled from his terrible daydreams.

"This is treason," he whispered to himself as he set his shaking hands flat against the smooth surface of his desk. "I must be sure, before I do this, I must be certain."

The captain's head pounded with the pressure, his thoughts returning as they had done time and time again, to the look in his King's eye as he had talked of the Gaian on that snowy balcony. How desperate and manic he had seemed. Angeal shuddered and a spike of tension lanced behind his eyes, making him wince.

"I must do this; there is no other way." He whispered, his mournful eyes opening to gaze down at the scrap of paper that would condemn him to death if discovered. Once sent, once he'd ridden out and he'd abandoned his garrison post to find his friends, he would be a wanted man. There could be no turning back after this.

Quickly, and with shaking fingers, Angeal rolled the scrap of paper up tightly and reached into the cage. The birds flapped and screeched their anger, striking at Angeal's rough hands with their beaks in annoyance as he seized the spindly foot of one of the birds and threaded the message into its carrier.

Angeal stood, picking the cage up, and carried it outside onto his own balcony. The bitter winds buffeted the armaments and howled around the ramparts, and its eerie song rose up like a wail in the night. Flurries of snow pelted the granite walls of the fort, stinging Angeal's face and freezing his skin as he set the crows on top of the wall and opened the door.

The birds hesitated, hopping closer to their freedom, and raised their beaks as if scenting the wind before they took flight; one to carry the message, one as a decoy; Angeal could never be too careful about who watched the birds.

The crows flew away silently into the night, only the brief feathery flap of wings as they took off could be heard over the soaring moans of the wind, and Angeal watched them go long after they'd dissolved in the darkness. Far from being bolstered by his actions, Angeal felt a cold chill that had nothing to do with the endless winter steal away his inner warmth.

"Holy Father, watch over me." He prayed, uttering the words from lips that barely moved.

He turned to go inside, shuttering the glass doors quickly against the biting wind and winced again at the light from the low fire. It hurt his eyes and his mind thumped from the tension in his skull. He pinched the bridge of his nose to try and loosen the ache, and his heart leaped into his throat at the sound of a footfall in the dark.

He lifted his gaze, sharp and piercing, and stared into the austere recesses of his chamber. "Who's there?" He called, his voice a heavy blanket in the fragile air.  
Nothingness answered, and the shadows only deepened as the fire burned lower.

A trick of my mind, Angeal thought, silently cussing himself for his nervous fright. He needed to sleep, and then all would be better with the world. He sighed deeply and came to stand in front of the fire, closing his eyes against the light that hurt his vision and tried to warm the chill that seemed to be imbedded deep within his centre.

Sephiroth and Genesis, they will come. If I ride out to meet them, they will come. Angeal's mind tried to comfort his doubts, but it had been many, many moons since he'd spoken with his childhood friends and even now Angeal could not be certain of their allegiances. It was a terrible thing to think of ones friends, but in Shinra's Midgar, there could be no room for softness. No matter how deep the bonds of friendship and brotherhood ran, there was always room for betrayal, Angeal thought with a bitter twist of irony.

The gentle whisper of a footfall came again, echoed by the soft creak of a floorboard, and Angeal whipped his head around, certain that he had not imagined the noise, only to blink into the darkness, blinded by the suffused glow of his fire and the migraine it nurtured. He blinked rapidly, squaring his shoulders as he called out again, "Who's there? Show yourself!" It took a few moments for his sight to adjust, and Angeal had to stare hard past the bright spots of fire that circled his vision. But he squinted out into empty darkness, and all that he could hear was the sound of the wind rattling the window panes and his own startled breathing.

With some effort, Angeal swallowed thickly and threw a glance towards his desk, where his long sword sat.

I'm growing old and simple minded, Angeal thought, as he cussed himself again for jumping at shadows. I'm not made for these games of power.

As he shook his head to clear his scattered thoughts, he was pulled off balance by a sudden tightening around his throat and an impossible weight against his back. He was thrown sharply to the right, the pressure around his neck increasing as the weight against his back grew heavier, and he staggered backwards, frantically clawing at the wire around his throat as he scrambled for air.

Planting his feet firmly apart and bracing his knees, Angeal rolled his shoulders, hoisting the weight behind him up off the floor and he threw his attacker over his head, the assassin landing with a swift roll before springing lithely to her feet.

Angeal stared at the woman. Her hair was short and fair, clipped around a smooth and beautiful face that stared at him with a blank detachment. In her hand dangled the wire she had tried to choke him with and in her other, she gripped the hilt of her short sword.

"Who are you?" Angeal barked gruffly, his throat narrow and sore from his choking.

The woman did not answer. Did not even smile as she threw aside the wire and flicked back her mid-length cloak to reveal the hilt of another short sword; it's design mirrored the one in her hand and she drew the daggers, the rasp of their metal blades singing across the silence with a sibilant hiss, and Angeal's gaze immediately fell to his desk and the sword that lay upon it, just behind the deadly intruder.

She twirled the weapons delicately in her hands, the light from the fire danced along their lengths and flashed menacingly in front of Angeal, and in the moments it took for her to dart forward and consume the distance between them, Angeal had already calculated that he would be too late to lunge for his weapon. He was too far away.

Instead he ducked, sinking down onto his hunches as the assassin lunged and he whipped a small dagger from his boot, throwing his weight up into her chest as he crashed through her attack and barrelled himself inside her guard. He spun them both, locking the hilt of his meagre weapon against the guard of hers and threw her off balance, crashing them both into a stone pillar. The impact stole the breath from Angeal's lungs and he wheezed through the pain, struggling with the intruder as she fought to free herself from Angeal's hold.

She lifted a booted foot and planted it against the captain’s thigh, kicking off the ground as she twisted her body upwards and back, breaking their locked swords as she flipped and kicked Angeal in the chin as she turned.

The captain staggered back, jaw aching from the impact as his mind rattled. Quickly he recovered himself, and set a wide stance, his longsword now to the left of him; if he could make a clear break for it he might reach it in time before the woman could reach him. But the assassin followed his line of sight and smiled, the gesture a sickening mockery of humour as she darted forwards once more, catching Angeal by surprise as she slid along the ground and tangled her feet around his, pulling him forwards and off balance once again as his massive bulk sent him sprawling to the floor with a grunt of pain. His dagger fell from his grasp and skittered away underneath a chair, it's golden hilt glinting mockingly in the dimness as Angeal shook the dizziness from his vision and he quickly scrabbled forwards, grasping for the small dagger as he felt a boot crash against his exposed ribs, his thick doublet and weighty cloak only protecting him so much as he grunted with the impact. He nearly fell to his knees again, and was thrown off balance by a forceful shove and a blinding kick to his jaw as he saw white lights dance in his vision. When he blinked his eyes open again he was on his back, staring up into the dark rafters of his chambers and the flickering, ominous shadow of his attacker loomed over him.

She placed a knee across his chest and pressed down, a flash of silver catching Angeal in his peripheral vision as his breath was stolen from him once again; a sudden and sharp blow to his side made it difficult to breathe and as he reached a hand down to wrap around the woman's wrist, he prized her fingers from the hilt of the dagger that was buried up underneath his ribs. Angeal felt the warm spread of spilt blood begin to seep out underneath his shirt, and as he fought for breath he realise the wound was a killing blow.

Gritting his teeth, now tinged with red as small bubbles of blood escaped his throat, the captain wrenched the assassins wrist and threw her aside, releasing the pressure against his chest.

The pain began to flood him then, and he struggled to lift himself to his elbow. Reaching round he pulled the dagger from his side and held it out with a bloody, shaking hand. It fell from his grasp and clattered to the floor, and Angeal pressed his trembling fingers to the wound at his side, his body beginning to turn cold as he felt the blood that soaked his clothes.

He let out a gruff moan, his pale face pinched in agony as he tried to turn himself into his knees, only to be pushed back to the floor by the woman as she knelt again, this time with her knee pressed across Angeal's throat, turning his moans of pain to chocking gasps for breath and he scratched and clawed at her leather clad thigh, teeth bared in a vicious snarl.

The woman shushed him, pressing a pristine finger to her lips with mocking concern as she slowly pulled a small needle-like blade from inside her sleeve. It was no bigger than a letter opener, forged from one single piece of steel, and it shone gleaming in the dimness.

The assassin saw the recognition flash in the captain's eyes and she enjoyed his feeble struggles as the pain and blood loss of his injury stole the strength from his massive body.

Slowly, almost tenderly, she stroked his face and wiped at the bloody flecks of spittle that stained Angeal's lips before she bent close and whispered.

"This will all be over soon." She watched the way her words sank in, enjoying the impotent swell of emotions that shifted her victim's face in subtle shadows before she raised her curious weapon to Angeal's ear and plunged the blade into his brain.

The captain convulsed sporadically several times, his legs twitching wildly as he snorted and grunted in his death throws, until he lay still and quiet, and the woman was satisfied her work was done.

She pulled her dagger free and wiped it on the captain's doublet, before stowing it away in the folds of her sleeve once again. Standing with a slow and easy grace, she surveyed the damage their small scuffle had caused and picked up her discarded short sword. Holstering it with its twin, she stepped over the body of her victim and pulled her hood back into place, melting back into the shadows that she had crept from.

*******

Cloud found Zack down on the tilt yard after a short time of searching for him. His lieutenant's voice carried up high on the fierce winds as he drilled the soldiers in night manoeuvres, and Cloud had to call his name several times before he caught his attention.

"Cloud!" Zack replied clearly in shock at the sight of his friend and the tight, drawn expression he wore. "What's wrong?" He asked, knowing immediately that something was.

"I need to speak with you. Privately." Cloud added, taking Zack's arm and turning him towards the captain's quarters.

Zack signalled to Barret, who stood from the shadows to take over as he watched his superiors leave and ascend the wooden steps up into the rooms above the barracks.

Once alone, Cloud checked the bolt across the door and turned to his friend.

"What is all this about? I haven't seen you in weeks and now this; what's with all the secrecy, Cloud?" Zack asked, his tone slipping towards annoyed as he noted the dark shadows that lay under the captain's eyes.

"I must ask you something very important," Cloud began, ignoring his friend's harsh words. "It will be dangerous and I need you to understand before you do it - if you're caught, it will end badly for all of us."

"What are you talking about, why have you been avoiding me?" Zack was growing annoyed now, his temper fizzing to the surface as he challenged his infuriating friend.

"This isn't about that, not now, Zack." Cloud scolded, brows drawn deeply as he tried to hush his angry retort into a hiss. "I need your help, will you assist me or not?"

"Of course I will," Zack bit back, folding his arms defensively across his chest. He tried and failed to return the scathing look his captain was giving him. Cloud had always been better at it. Zack could never hold a grudge long enough to practice. "What is it you want of me?" he added with a childish huff.

"I need you to escort a caravan heading north, to Nibelheim. No one can know you're going, it must be secret."

"Why?" Zack asked, his anger melting to curiosity.

"Because you transport someone. I need you to take them north to the mountains, to my friend Tifa, and deliver a message to her."

"Who is this someone?" Zack tried again, recognising his friend’s evasive tactics.

Cloud sighed and paused, the frown that had creased his brows softened to knowing concern and he looked like he was struggling to answer. "The Gaian," he eventually replied softly, watching with a renewed and hardened gaze as Zack's face became a blank slate of disbelief.

"You're mad." was all Zack said, his voice toneless, the words cleaving through the silence like the whisper of a blade.

"Please, Zack. Hear it all before you say anything." Cloud began, holding a leather gloved hand out in supplication.

"No, you're mad," Zack pressed, shaking his head in disbelief as he backed away and stepped towards the window that overlooked the tilt yard. "Do you know what this will mean?" He hissed, keeping his voice down low, "This is treason, Cloud. Helping that Gaian escape is madness, have you lost your mind completely?"

"I know what I ask is difficult," Cloud began, stepping towards his friend before Zack interrupted with an incredulous laugh.

"Difficult? Holy Light, you really are in your madness, aren’t you!" Zack exclaimed, forcing Cloud to shush him viciously. "I know, you've had your quarrels with your father, and Holy knows his rule has never been a peaceful one, but this will wreak havoc on Avalanche, Cloud. The King will stop at nothing to get him back and no one will be safe until he does. I'd be putting everyone I loved at risk."

"He's dying, Zack!" Cloud retorted angrily, surprised by the force and vehemence in his voice. His lieutenant was silenced and despite the obvious fate Zack had known the Gaian would face, it still brought a curl of displeasure to his mind, and left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. "Shinra will stop at nothing to prise the Gaian's secrets from his mind. He will think nothing of letting Ansem destroy him, and for what?" Cloud was a furious frenzy of emotion as he whipped his hand out to the side in a cutting motion, spreading his arms wide. "For his campaign of blood, and wealth, and victory? He already has everything! His obsession with the north will ruin us all; they've never wanted to invade us Zack, they're a peaceful people. Shinra seeks to control a people he will never be able to understand. I cannot sit back and let him hurt them."

Zack watched his captain's impassioned speech with slowly wilting resolve. "Them?" He asked, knowing his next words would bring their friendship to dance along the edge of a knife, "or him?"

Cloud's eyes widened and he stared, unblinking at Zack as he felt the pounding of his heart against his ribcage. "It isn't the Gaian's of the north you want to protect, is it?" Zack asked carefully, "It's him."

"Be careful, Zack," Cloud warned, his threat a breathy whisper in the cold night air.

Zack's piercing gaze turned soft and sad, and with a slight tilt of his head he responded with a disappointed frown. "Even after all these years of friendship, you still don't trust me."

Cloud felt his mouth work in a soundless reply as he struggled to answer, and with a soft gasp that released his throat from its choke hold, he replied with a gravelly rasp. "I couldn't put you in danger."

"Horse shit!" Zack snarled, stepping away from the window as he advanced suddenly on his captain.

To his credit, Cloud did not recoil, and he bore the brunt of his friend's anger and disappointment like an immovable cliff face, sturdy and silent as the waves of Zack's emotions pounded against him in all their wild and beautiful fury.

"I have stood by your side and defended you all our lives. I could have been a captain of my own regiment by now. I could have land and wealth and title and glory and all the things we dreamed about as children. But instead I followed you! I was loyal to you! Don't repay my sacrifice with lies, Cloud. Don't spit on everything I've given up for our friendship with that cheap pigswill of an excuse." Zack seemed to bolster himself, as if preparing for the worst onslaught of them all as he stepped into Cloud's personal space and jabbed a finger into his sternum. "You're a coward, Cloud. That's why you never told me. You've been hiding from yourself all these years and only now you have the strength to be honest; because of some Gaian boy? And you ask me to risk my life, Aerith's life, the life of everyone I know and love because you've finally realised what you are?"

Cloud could not hold Zack's eye as he let his words crash around him. They cut him like shards of broken glass and he felt weakened by every single one of them.  
"Didn't want to put me in danger?" Zack mocked, stepping back, "Being your friend has put me in harm’s way all of my life. And now you have the stomach to tell me you've been trying to protect me?"

Cloud could not summon the words to argue, and he doubted he understood enough of himself to explain anyway. He couldn't hope to convey what it had been like to live in his self-enforced world of loneliness and denial. How he'd wanted to be honest from the beginning. How much he'd shut himself away from that possibility. Instead he lifted his chin and squared his friend with a level and unwavering gaze, aware that his next words could sever their bonds of brotherhood for ever.

"Will you do it or not?"

Zack was silent for a long time, nothing between them but even and level breathing as his gaze darted backwards and forwards between Cloud's fathomless blue/green eyes. He saw so much of his own childhood reflected back in them, and despite all that he held against the captain for his wasted life, he could not overlook the bonds of their friendship. He saw Cloud now as he'd always seen him: a lost little boy, even in his adult body, still helpless and unsure of the world around him and his place within it. And Zack remembered his own purpose. Despite it all, he would never abandon him.

"I will," he spoke firmly. "But there is much we will need to discuss when I return."

Cloud nodded his head, unable to stop himself from breathing a sigh of relief at his lieutenant's words and he watched his face carefully.

With a slight frown of curiosity, Cloud saw the way Zack's gaze shifted from his own face, and slid away over his shoulder, the lieutenant's eyes going wide with startled recognition. In an instant, Cloud felt the prickling sensation of someone stood behind him, and as he turned his head to look, he saw Zack move from the corner of his vision.

In a flurry of movement, Zack had grabbed him by the front of his cloak, snatching the fastening that held it together across his chest, and spun him quickly, slamming his body against the wall of the quarters and he smothered Cloud's slight frame with his own.

Cloud opened his eyes and saw the dark skinned man behind Zack. His eyes were hooded and shadowed but Cloud saw the surprise in them clearly as he stared at him over Zack's shoulder, his breath coming from him in quick little gasps of shock.

He heard Zack moan into his ear and it broke his startled surprise. Flicking his gaze down to his friend’s side, he saw the dagger lodge into his ribs, the blood already soaking through his cloak, and like a stone sinking beneath the surface of a pond, Zack fell to his knees before him.

The intruder ran bolting towards the window with lighting speed, and Cloud was caught between lowering his friend to the floor and giving chase.

With a startled gasp that stuck in his throat, Cloud called for help, the shout rising with panic as he scrambled to the window in time to see the assassin clamber onto the roof.

A few shouts went up from the tilt yard below, and Cloud looked down to find the men had stopped practicing and where watching the shadow as it slipped along the roof tops and disappeared into the night.

"Barret, find Merlin!" Cloud called desperately, ignoring the bloody hand pint he left on the window ledge. "Zack's been hurt."

He darted back inside, rushing to his friend's side as he turned him onto his back and felt that sudden spike of panic hit him again full force as his knee slipped in a large pool of blood.

Carefully, Cloud reached down and grasped at the blade still lodged in his friend’s side and pulled it free, the sound wet and gruesome as the knife slid against flesh and cartilage.

Zack let out a winded wheeze and Cloud lifted his head into his lap as he stared down at the weapon in his hand.

The golden hilt glinted in the bluish light of the moon, and the red tassel that hung from the guard was unmistakable. Even now, after all these years, Cloud could still recall the day Shinra had given it to the Prince. It had been a token of acknowledgement. A gift as Rufus had come of age, and Cloud recalled clearly the bitter resentment he'd felt as he watched. Knowing he would never receive anything of its like. How much he'd hated the Prince then.

Zack's moan of pain freed Cloud's attention from the blade and he quickly tucked it away inside his doublet. Reaching down he pressed a hand to the gushing wound and through gritted teeth he heard his friend struggle to speak.

"D...don't," Zack pleaded, shaking his head as he looked up at his captain. He was struggling to breathe and his laboured gasps came in short, razor sharp puffs of air, like a bird fluttering against the glass panes of a window.

"Hold on." Cloud told him uselessly, his fear spiking again as he watched Zack's skin turn as bluish and dusky as the night around them.

Shouts from down below could be heard louder now, and there was banging at the door where Cloud had bolted it, but the captain could not make himself move to open it.

He sat and watched as Zack's breathing grew shallower and his skin grew paler, and he whimpered a useless apology and he bent his forehead to Zack's.

"Just... hold on." He commanded him.

Zack died moments later, his face turned towards the window and the darkened, clouded sky beyond it, and gradually the awful truth broke through Cloud's feeble praying. He gave a short, terrible, cry of rage and pain, and then he folded himself over the lifeless body of his friend and wept.


	11. Chapter 11

The air in the dungeons of Avalanche smelt strongly of sulphur and mould, and Merlin shivered as he hobbled down the cold steps and was hit by a strong wall of hot and humid air; the pungent stench of a dark and terrible magic hung around him like a fog, dampening his skin and clothes as he waded through the thick soup.

“Open it.” he commanded the lone guard slouched on a stool in the antechamber. The guard stood to attention from his light doze with a surprised jolt and fumbled with his keys in his haste. Merlin waited anxiously, gripping his staff tightly as his palms sweated and his skin itched in the toxic, putrid air. With a loud screech the door was pulled back on its hinges, and taking the torch from its sconce on the wall, Merlin stepped inside.

The light from the flickering flames spilled across a cold stone floor and fell upon the huddled form of the Gaian in the far corner, the small illumination enough to fill the cramped space, and Merlin’s brows twitched in concern when Squall did not immediately flinch back as he expected him to.

The wizard approached him carefully, setting the torch up high on the wall, freeing his hand to delve into the pouch on his belt, and he pulled out a small glass vial and knelt beside the Gaian, his gaze widening as his eyes gradually took in the horrific magnitude of his abuse. 

Ansem had not spared the boy this time. Squall’s naked body was covered in long, ugly looking lashes, as if a whip had been brought against his skin. Yet the edges of these wounds appeared too neat and surgical for such a crude weapon. They were red and raw and open to the putrid air around them and Merlin had to catch the sound of pity and horror in his throat. With bent and arthritic fingers, Merlin unstopped the bottle in his hand and held it under Squall’s nose and waited. 

Soon enough the Gaian stirred, his pitiful moan and sudden shivers twisting Merlin’s heart painfully as he watched him wake. 

“Easy lad,” the wizard breathed as he tried to press a hand to his neck in comfort.

“M… Mer…lin?” Squall rasped, his eyes flickering open to reveal his storming grey orbs had been covered with a thin film of white. Merlin stared hard and bit back a curse in every language he knew. 

“What happened here, lad, what did he do?”

Squall struggled to reply, his mouth working silently as he tried to shift his aching body along the wall, and he blindly reached out in search of the wizard.  
Merlin took his hand and squeezed it, noticing how weak Squall’s grip was.

“He… he wanted… to see my country,” Squall stuttered, his sightless eyes sweeping back and forth, searching for any familiar shapes in the darkness of his mind. “He was… looking for something…”

“What? What was he looking for?” Merlin urged in a hushed whisper.

“I don’t know,” Squall shook his head. The motion seemed to pain him and he let out a small, wounded cry. “He wouldn’t say.”

Merlin shushed him and told him to be still, and rummaged in his bag for a moment. He pulled out a small leather flask of fresh water and helped the Gaian drink, before he placed a hand against his forehead.

“Why did he take your sight?”

Squall shook his head, “I… I wouldn’t let him see.” he replied with a soft sigh, the wizard’s gentle touch like a warm flame to his perished skin. “He took more memories. Merlin,… I… I am forgetting…” Squall’s voice was terrified and with a soft hush, Merlin tried to console him. “Their faces… Matron, Ellone… Seifer and Quistis… I’m losing them.”

“It will be alright,” Merlin spoke, barely believing his own words. “Here, let me help a little.” He moved his hand from Squall’s forehead and placed it in the centre of his chest. Closing his eyes he breathed out his curious magic, his brows furrowing hard as he concentrated, and the vicious wounds to Squall’s skin healed over to leave fresh, purple scars. With a grunt of effort, Merlin opened his eyes and surveyed his work, noticing the wrinkles in his hands were deeper, his liver spots more pronounced, and the pains that crippled his joints screamed in protest as he settled himself on his knees. 'Every power has its price', he remembered, curling his hand stiffly. 'I pay it willingly'.

It appeared to the wizard as if the Gaian had fallen unconscious again, and he was about to leave him be when Squall opened his sightless eyes and furrowed his brows. His voice was a soft croak as he pushed the words past his dry lips, but the question was unmistakable and it tore at Merlin’s conscience.

“Why do you serve him, Merlin?”

The question was a shock to him and it took a moment for Merlin to gather his thoughts together enough to answer. He had kept his reasons to himself for so many years, and it was a shame he had never truly come to terms with, yet he’d laboured under the weight of it for so long. He had told Squall once that it was not only chains that could imprison a person, and he recalled a time before Avalanche, when there had been a king worthy of respect, and the castle had been named Avalon. 

“There was a boy-King who sat on the throne here many years ago,” he began to explain. “And all around the castle there was the sea, where the great planes are now, and the people of this island were happy and prosperous, making their living as fisher folk. The boy-King had come to his throne through a mystical sword, and the people loved him dearly.” Merlin stopped and blinked away the rising tide of tears that sat in his lashes, his moustache twitching as he bit the inside of his cheek. “I loved him dearly.”

“What was his name?” Squall asked, his eyelids beginning to droop in heavy exhaustion. 

“His name was Arthur.” Merlin replied, the name catching in his throat as he spoke. “When Shinra invaded he pushed back the sea and killed the people’s livelihoods, using a great power the likes of which no one had ever seen before. Arthur fought bravely but was inevitably defeated. When Shinra invaded, and Arthur was taken prisoner, I was discovered and brought before the new king to strike a deal.” Merlin spat the word out as if it tasted foul and he leaned heavily against his staff as his back protested with a flare of pain. “I was to serve the new King – to become a part of his collection – and he would let my Arthur live. I agreed of course.”

“Where is he now?” Squall asked, his mind wondering the vast and empty cells of the dungeons and he wondered where the boy-King had been kept all these years. 

“I do not know. In my heart, I fear that Shinra has not kept his word. But I must never lose hope. I promised my life for Arthur’s, I cannot break my vow.” 

Squall reached out and Merlin caught his hand. “I understand,” Squall spoke, his words a throaty whisper in the quiet, and with a pained but affectionate smile he pressed the wizard’s hand to his chest. “Shinra does not seek to rid the world of magic,” the Gaian rasped, understanding his place amongst the people of Midgar now, and Merlin shook his head, all of his wasted years at Avalanche floating in his mind’s eye as he recalled the desolate years after Arthurs defeat, “He seeks to control it.” Squall’s brows creased as he spoke, his heart breaking with the realisation of such corruption.

“And I have helped him.” Merlin admitted, lowering his chin to his chest in shame.

“Then so have I,” Squall replied, letting the wizard’s hand go. “And all of my memories – my people’s customs and traditions – will die with me, and I will not remember a single one of them.”

The Gaian’s words moved Merlin deeply. He understood all too well what it was to be torn from a good and peaceful world, and the thought of Squall perishing without a single comforting memory haunted him. Should Ansem destroy Squall’s mind, then he would die an empty shell of what he once was; an evil and lasting wound to an already beaten soul. 

“There are small ways to fight back, if you have the strength?” the wizard spoke, setting his staff aside and settling on his knees again. When Squall nodded, giving his consent with a small and stoic frown, Merlin saw shades of his long lost Arthur, and his heart twisted painfully. 

“We must hide your memories and protect them, leaving a ghost of them behind for Ansem to destroy. It will mean I will have to see inside your mind, will you let me do this?”

Once again Squall nodded, and Merlin clapped his hands once, rubbing them together as he blew on them, and a small gust of bluish air danced over his fingers as he closed his eyes and placed his hands against Squall’s temples.

Inside Squall’s mind was like a burnt forest; shards of memories and thoughts were blackened and scorched, and all around floated small wafts of feelings and emotions, curled and singled like burnt scraps paper. 

Let down your guard and collect all of your memories together, place them in plain view, where I can see them. Merlin spoke like a gust of wind in Squall’s mind, his words forming in swirls and eddies that stirred up the charred aftermath of Ansem’s passing. Almost immediately, Squall’s thoughts began to dance. Flittering images and the ghostly shapes of people and animals and places flickered before Merlin’s sight like the leaves of a book, and he reached out his mind to capture them all. 

Squall felt the smothering effect of the wizard’s magic and an uncontrollable panic rose up in him, before it was soothed by Merlin’s raspy voice: Do not fight it, everything will be alright.

Squall saw his memories coalesce in his mind’s eye, turning paper thin and opaque before they seemed to split in two, and it was as if he was seeing double. Every memory, every single thought and feeling he had ever had become a copy of itself, and he felt a breeze against his face as if a strong wind had picked up from nowhere and had brought with it a great wave. The water washed over him and took with it the duplicate memories, burying them beneath the foaming waters, masking their presence to leave behind only a shadow of themselves dancing in the quietness of his mind. The shadows flickered like flames on a darkened wall, before solidifying and becoming whole again and Merlin suddenly let them go, and the images scattering then, returning to their places in the recesses of Squall’s mind and all about where there had been a harrowing field of burnt and dying memories there was instead a vast ocean of calm, its gentle waters hiding the very essence of who Squall was, deep within their depths. 

Merlin opened his eyes and saw the great effort his magic had taken on the Gaian. He lay against the wall, breathing hard as his pale skin shimmered with sweat, and yet he shivered with an internal cold he would never be able to warm. Merlin reached out and cupped Squall’s cheek carefully, unsurprised that the Gaian did not stir, and let his eyes wander over the new and terrible scars Ansem’s magic had left behind. 

“Hold on,” he whispered, letting his hand fall as he reached for his staff and raised himself to his feet. “Cloud is coming for you.”

*******

The guard room in the barracks was lit with two small sombre lanterns and deathly cold; the howling midnight wind licked through the gaps in the shutters and whistled in the eves, but Aerith barely noticed. Slouched over the body laid out on the rough-hewn desk, she sat and wept quietly, one hand entwined with Zack's cold fingers, and her forehead pressed to his bloody tunic as she lost herself in grief. The soldiers that had carried Zack's body down from the captain's rooms had left her, their awkward glances and heavy silences too much for the small office, and Aerith sat alone, waiting for Barret to bring her news.

Cloud was still missing, and although Merlin had been sent for, it was far too late for the wizard's magic. Even his powers were beyond death's final call.

With a shuddering breath Aerith lifted her head and stared down at her lover through watery eyes and stroked Zack's hair. Why now? So much wasted time; If only I’d forgiven him sooner.

So many thoughts raced through her head, she felt like they were screaming in the silence. She was adrift in a storming sea of regret and anger and she could only return to her own guilt, and the selfish reasons she'd punished him for. Wasted time, all of it, she thought, the force of her loss battering against her again and again.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered into the quiet, her lips trembling as tears dripped from her chin. She heard the door behind her open and close, a gust of frigid air billowing into the room, and she recognised the spicy and fragrant sent of Merlin's presence. She didn't turn to greet him, only kept on softly petting Zack's hair, her silent tears marking her ruddy face as the wizard placed a gentle and comforting hand upon her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, my dear," he muttered, squeezing lightly. It was a few moments before she could answer.

"There was nothing you could have done," she said shaking her head. "He was gone before anyone could do anything."

"What happened here?" Merlin asked, pulling up a rickety chair beside the young woman and he set his staff aside.

"They don't know. They say that Cloud raised the alarm. There was an intruder; gone before they could capture him. The door was bolted and by the time they had broken in he was gone." Aerith spoke brokenly, her voice tightening as she talked of Zack's passing.

"Where is Cloud?" Merlin asked, watching how the young woman's hands trembled as she caressed Zack's cheek.

"No one knows. He left when the men broke in. They said he had a look of the Devils in his eye; no one dared to stop him. They think he went back to the castle, though they can't be sure."

"Did he see who did this?"

"He must have." Aerith replied quickly, a small and strange spark of anger and blame and confusion igniting in her chest. How could Cloud leave him?

"Then we must find him, quickly," Merlin said, his quiet tone shifting sharply as he took command of the situation. "Where might he have gone?"

"I don't know," Aerith shook her head, leaning closer to Zack as another wave of grief hit her at the thought of leaving him alone. She was not ashamed to admit that right now, she didn't care. Cloud had left. Aerith would not do the same.

"Aerith, you must listen to me," Merlin began, placing a hand to her shoulder again to draw her fractured attention. "Cloud might still be in danger. If this intruder is still on the loose, he might not be done with his nights work."

Aerith sat back and blinked owlishly at the wizard, his words taking a moment to register through her loss.

"I don't understand..." Zack was dead; the intruders work had been accomplished.

"I fear this assassin was not meant for Zack," Merlin explained as gently as he could, his pale eyes soft and kind in the dim light.

"What do you mean?" Aerith's heart began to pound once again.

"It makes no sense, my dear. Why kill Lord Fair? No, I fear his real target may have disappeared somewhere into the castle in a blind rage, and we must find him, before the assassin does." Merlin shook his head, his gaze impressing upon the young woman the urgency of his reasoning.

"You... you mean... someone was sent here... to kill Cloud?"

"To my mind, it makes more sense. Come, we must hurry." Merlin said as he stood, holding his hand out for Aerith to take.

"I can't, Merlin. I can't leave him." Aerith replied, tears beginning to leak from her eyes again as she shook her head vehemently.

"My dear, he is already gone." Merlin spoke as softly as he could, his heart breaking to see the grief wash over Aerith's face as she crumbled again at his words. The wizard gave her a few moments to weep anew, before he curled his fingers around her arm and pulled lightly.

"Come, Aerith. There is nothing you can do here. We must find Cloud, before it is too late."

With great difficulty, Aerith let go of Zack's cold hand and stood on shaking legs. She looked at Merlin with defeated, broken eyes, and the wizard stared back with quiet compassion before he spoke softly and urgently, placing a warm and wrinkled palm to her smooth cheek.

"Go to Cloud's rooms and wait for him there. Should he return, send for me immediately," he instructed her. "Do not stop for anybody. Tell no one what has happened. Do you understand?"

Aerith nodded slowly, her gaze flickering back to the body beside them, and with a wet sniff she bent quickly and pressed a kiss to Zack's forehead, whispering something quietly and tenderly against his skin before she stood and turned, unable to look back, and allowed herself to be led out into the bitter wind.

*******

With a dry hiss Cloud let the hot anger envelop him as he charged up the large winding staircase, its wooden balustrades rattling as he griped the banister and pulled himself up the stone steps. The Prince’s chambers were miles from the barracks, but Cloud lost none of his hot and festering anger as he charged down the corridor and yelled the Prince’s name, the sound echoing off the stone walls with a thunderous peel of sound.

Before the doors to Rufus’ chamber could be pulled back, Cloud charged at them, crashing into the wood with a brutal grunt, and forced them open, knocking the steward behind them over and onto his back. Cloud drew his sword and pointed the tip at Lazard’s throat, the point just grazing the man’s chin drawing a faint line of blood, and the stewards gazed up at him with startled eyes. 

“What is the meaning of this?” he gasped, inching back on his elbows.

“Where is he?” Cloud growled, his eyes already darting around the lavish room. At first it appeared empty but a shifting shadow by the brightly burning fire caught Cloud’s attention and he whipped his sword up, making Lazard gasp again as the shining metal blade whizzed past his face. 

“You,” Cloud rasped, his voice low and deadly “Do you know what you’ve done?”

The fear in Rufus’ gaze was obvious even from where Cloud stood in the grate open maw of the doors, and Cloud felt a small measure of satisfaction.

“What are you talking about? How dare you barge into my rooms uninvited and-”

“Answer me!” Cloud interrupted, stepping over the squirming worm at his feet and rounded a small decorative table in the centre of Rufus’ chambers. The prince stepped away from the fire, keeping a reasonable distance between himself and the captain as his eyes flicked between Cloud’s ferocious stare and his sword. “Lord Fair is dead because of you.” 

Rufus’ cunning stare darted to Cloud’s tunic and breeches, stained in blood and a knowing flash of realization shone behind his eyes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” he replied, bumping into the corner of his desk.

“Horse shit!” Cloud’s voice bellowed in the quiet chamber and in the silence that followed he heard the steward scrabble to his feet. The captain kept his presence in the back of his mind as he trained his eyes on the Prince and lifted his sword. With his other hand he reached inside his doublet and pulled out the gleaming gold dagger, stained with rusty red blood, and threw it at Rufus’ feet. It clanged loudly and skittered to a stop in the space between them, and Rufus stared down at it with slowly seething anger. 

“This proves nothing.” he bit out, clutching his withered hand to his chest as he stood there and trembled with a snivelling sneer.

“It’s all the proof I need,” Cloud returned, squaring his shoulders as he grounded himself, his features twisted in anger and hatred. “Why did you do it? Why now, after all these years?”

“I should not have to answer to a lowly, traitorous bastard.” Rufus spat, his eyes darting to somewhere over Cloud’s shoulder, and Cloud was well aware of Lazard’s presence drawing near. 

“Traitorous? That is a new one,” Cloud answered with a humourless laugh, “You have accused me of being many things before, Rufus, but you have never stooped to calling me a traitor.”

“Many things,” Rufus agreed, his false smile turning into a snarl of distain, “And they have all been true. Why not this one?”

“Your paranoid delusions have gone too far,” Cloud shook his head, a great swell of emotion bubbling to the surface, “You killed my friend!”

“He was a pitiful, third rate soldier and a filthy pillow-biter. Don’t flatter his memory with your pathetic grief.”

“What?” Cloud asked, genuinely stunned as he blinked back tears. He felt a cold chill cascade down his back and he was shocked to stillness as he watched the horrid glee on Rufus’ face broaden his ugly smile. “What did you just call him?”

“You heard me. Everyone at court knows how he warmed your bed. He was a disgrace to his family, and to his King.”

The Prince’s words shook Cloud so deeply he nearly missed the subtle shifting of fabric behind him, and he turned almost a moment too late to avoid a flash of silver as it grazed his cheek. Cloud staggered back and swung his arm out, capturing Lazard around the face with the pommel of his sword, and he heard the sound of crunching bone and the delayed squeal of pain as he broke the man’s jaw.

The steward hit the stone floor with a heavy thump and lay splayed out amongst his long robes in an inelegant heap. Cloud reached up a hand and dabbed his fingertips to the cut along his cheek, the sting not even registering with him as he turned back to Rufus with a dazed and furious fire in his eyes. He stepped over the unconscious steward, his actions making the Prince flinch back, and he paced quickly over to the fire and pulled a sword from its hanging over the hearth. He tossed it at Rufus, the man barely catching it in his one good hand as he stared at the king’s bastard with an impudent snarl. 

“I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done,” Cloud began, raising his sword and settling into a fighting stance, “But I won’t fight you unarmed.”

“This is ludicrous; I’m not fighting you!”

“Then just stand there, so I can kill you quickly.” Cloud hardly let his words settle in the brittle air between them before he darted forwards and swung his sword up and then down in a violent arc. The Prince darted left, hopping onto his good leg in an inelegant waddle as he fumbled with the catch on the long disused holster, and struggled to free the blade from its sheath. 

With a startled grunt, he side stepped another swinging blow, Cloud’s blade missing his head by inches as it crashed down and splintered the corner of his desk in a shower of wood. With a gasp of relief, the blade came free and he pulled it from the leather sheath and held it in a lax grip, stuck at an awkward defensive angle as he attempted to block an upper cut with his weak arm. 

He could have never hoped to have fought Cloud with his mangled right hand, yet his left was not a fighting arm and the block barely stopped the blade from slicing his knees open as the blow rang out in the quite chambers, making Rufus’ arm tingle and sting with the impact. 

The Prince backed away, his eyes wide with panic as Cloud advanced on him, and he stumbled over the body of his unconscious steward and crashed into the decorative table behind him. 

Cloud bent down as he passed the glinting gold dagger by his feet and picked it up, twirling it until it fit comfortably in his palm and he lowered his sword, advancing on the squirming, struggling form of the Prince until he was stood over him. With a rueful, unhappy sneer, he placed a foot over Rufus’ wrist, forcing him to let go of his blade, holding it against the ground, and knelt down once again, pressing his knee into the Prince’s chest and felt the grunt of panic Rufus let out hit his face as he leaned over and brought the dagger to his throat. 

“You deserve to die a thousand time over for what you’ve done,” Cloud spoke through gritted teeth as he placed his sword against the toppled table and reached out a hand to tangle it in Rufus’ shining blond hair. “But I will satisfy myself with just once.”

Rufus reached up and gripped Cloud’s wrist weakly with his crippled hand and tried to pull it free, his eyes so wide Cloud could see the fleshy pink around the sockets, and with a desperate gasp of protest that died in his throat as Cloud lifted the dagger, he strangled a scream into the ominous quiet.

Cloud slit his throat quickly, the wound taking a moment to bleed before it opened up and began to gush over the Prince’s finely woven silk tunic, and a chocking, bubbling, gargling noise emanated from the King’s son as he thrashed wildly for a moment.

Cloud’s rage was not satisfied, and as he watched the panic rise in Rufus’ eyes at his fast approaching death, he raised the dagger again and thrust it into the Prince’s chest, between his ribs and straight into his heart. 

Rufus died with fear in his eyes and blood on his lips, and he slumped against the flagstone floor and became still. 

Cloud sat back and let Rufus’s hair go, his head thunking back against the floor with a sickening thud. He left the dagger where it was, sticking crudely from the Prince’s chest, and reached for his own sword. He stood on shaking legs, his eyes never leaving the prone form of his half-brother as he watched his pale skin turn waxen and lifeless, and as if waking from a dream, Cloud gasped and drew a long shuddering breath into his trembling lungs. 

He holstered his sword, the metallic rasp a final conclusion to the bloody scene as he turned away and stumbled from the chambers and into the long dark corridors, back to his own rooms. 

*******

Cloud's rooms were cold and dark when Aerith entered them. For a moment she was confused and a little scared, before she remembered that Leon was no longer around to tend to them and a brief flicker of guilt broke through her pain as she recalled the other terrible things that had transpired that day. She had forgotten completely the Gaian's suffering and ultimate, inevitable end, and her heart broke anew as she felt her legs weaken under such a strong and tidal force of anger and loss.

With a small, strangled sob, she wiped her running nose and swiped the tears from her cheeks and set to rebuilding the fire. She felt the effort in such a normal, everyday task, with every heavy log she hefted onto the hearth, and the weariness of her grief was exhausting. Finally, after many failed attempts, and after many fractious curses and fits of frustration, she lit the fire and banked it to life.

Sitting back in her heels she wiped at her brow with the back of her sooty hand, leaving a smear across her sweaty skin, and she looked around the room as the shadows receded. Perhaps it was the terrible loss of life and the promise of death to come for the Leon, but Aerith felt the emptiness of the room much more keenly than she ever had done. It was stark and deep, and she felt loneliness carved in her soul like she had never felt before. She had spent a good many years alone as a child, with only her mother for company, yet she had never been lonely. And despite never belonging to Avalanche, and being seen as an outsider by its people, she had never let their small minded eccentricities dissolve her sturdy character. Now, however, she felt entirely alone, and it was shocking and powerful.

She picked herself up from the run and sat herself in one of the chairs by the fire, cradling her hands in her lap as she sat and watched the flames dance. She felt she might sink beneath the waves of her grief in such a quiet and desolate place and she was about to forget her promise to the wizard entirely, when the sound of the heavy wooden door being pushed back on its hinges stole her attention.

She looked over her shoulder and peered into the gloom, and from the other side of the room a shadowy figure appeared. It took a few moments for Aerith's misty vision to clear, but eventually she recognised Cloud's silhouette and she rose to her feet as she took in the terrible state of him.

Cloud's face was pale and blood spattered, tinged with grey around his lips and nose, and his eyes stared back at her with a chilling empty hollowness that made the swirling eddies of anger in Aerith's heart freeze. In an instant, her riotous emotions had stilled, and any anger or bitterness that might have come pouring out of her simply ebbed away, to leave her weak and thoughtless as she swayed on her feet.

Cloud must have seen the shifting shadows of her emotions flitter across her face. The moment he saw her begin to sway he darted forward and collected her in his arms as she fell, and he cushioned her against him as they both sank to their knees.

Immediately Aerith began to sob again, pressing her face into Cloud's blood stained tunic as her whole body shook with her renewed grief. Cloud pressed his cheek to her hair and closed his eyes, pulling her closer to him as he settled them on the floor in front of the fire and let her cry. 

Eventually, he summoned the strength to whisper a broken apology, and even to his own ears it felt small and worthless.

"I'm sorry, Aer." he murmured, carding his fingers through her long hair. "I'm so sorry."

The young woman let out a mournful sound of distress against his chest and with a wet hiccup, she pulled away and wiped at her face with shaking hands. "Tell me what happened," she demanded in a trembling voice. "Tell me who did this."

Cloud shook his head, his voice catching in his throat, "Aerith, I-"

"Tell me!" the young woman balled her hand into a fist and slammed it against her knee, her beautiful face contorted in anger as she stared at Cloud, unflinching.

Cloud swallowed hard and had to look away, his mouth working silently as the name of Zack's killer sat on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill out and shatter Aerith's word once again. "Rufus," he managed to say, his skin prickling with a cold chill, an image of the dead Prince flashing in his mind’s eye as he spoke. "This was Rufus' doing."

Aerith's anger melted away to leave her shocked and speechless, her large green eyes wide with disbelief. "The Prince?" she spoke, her delicate brows creasing in confusion.

"He sent an assassin. He was meant for me, Aer. Zack... He..." Cloud faltered, ducking his head to avoid Aerith's piercing stare.

"He what?" Aerith asked, reaching out to grip Cloud's chin and pull his head back up, her temper frayed to its last edges as she fought to pry the truth from her friend’s mouth.

"He saw him before I did. Pulled me out of the way and put himself between me and the blade." Every word was like a lash wound to Cloud's heart, but he forced himself to watch as Aerith listened. "He saved my life, Aer."

And the last of Aerith's anger faded. The words were a tribute to her selfless lover, and despite the pain of his loss - still fresh and raw and unbearably painful - they honoured him and the life he had lived, and ultimately given, for the friend he had loved since childhood. Aerith let go of Cloud's chin and touched his cheek instead, confronting him even though she needed it more herself. "You would have done the same for him." she told him, knowing it deep down in her heart. "Where is Rufus now?"

Cloud's eyes turned hard and appeared to ghost over with a shadow of something that sent a chill through Aerith as she watched him pull himself together, and then untangle himself from their crumpled heap on the floor.

Cloud stood up, pulling apart his ruined tunic, and flung it aside as he rummaged in the chest at the bottom of his bed for clean clothing. "He's dead." Cloud replied, selecting a thick woollen shirt, and slipped it over his head.

"Dead?" Aerith gasped, standing quickly too. "How?"

"I killed him."

Cloud's confession hung between them like a weighted stone, the repercussions stark and indisputable, and both of them knew what they meant.

"Cloud, you... you killed the King's heir," Aerith whispered, the words too terrible to say aloud. "You know what this means!"

"I know," Cloud nodded, pulling on his thick doublet and reaching for his fur trimmed cloak. "I'm leaving tonight, before anyone beings to suspect." He began to fill a leather stitched bag with spare clothes, shoving in whatever came to his hand first, and with a flat and deadly tone he added, "And I won't be going alone." He turned and placed the bag into Aerith's arms, cupping her face gently between his hands as he looked at her affectionately. "I'll need a horse, and a way out of the castle. Can you do this for me?" he asked softly but urgently, his fingers cold against her burning cheeks.

Aerith nodded dumbly, all that had happened and everything that was going to happen crashing together in her mind as she stared mutely up at her friend, and a whispered voice spoke through the chaos in her head: this is the last time we will ever see each other.

"I'll meet you in the stables in one hour. Have everything ready. Tell no one what you're doing."

"Where are you going?" Aerith managed to ask as Cloud let her face go and headed for the doors. Cloud slowed but did not stop and called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the gloom.

"To find Squall."


	12. Chapter 12

Squall was dreaming of Balamb. In his mind he could see the towering trees and the blue skies beyond them, and could feel the fresh breeze as it swept along the valleys and stirred up the scents of rich earth and spring grass. He heard the roar of water as it tumbled from a nearby fall, and overhead, he heard the sound of a bird screeching loudly, its call echoing across the vast landscape as it soared towards the mountains. 

Squall opened his eyes and was blinded by the brilliant sun. He squinted through the white light to see a vision of his home appear before him; his most sacred place; a small lagoon secreted away deep within the valley of Winhill, and he had visited it many times as a boy. The large waterfall cascaded over a high cliff and plunged into the cool waters of the lake, and all around was a quiet and peaceful woodland. The towering trees offered shade and protection, and as Squall looked down at his bare feet, he frowned. Where the rich and soft grass of the glade should have been, there was a gently rolling sea and when he looked up again all around the water had risen to engulf the secret glade. The trees were still standing, but the lake had disappeared and the waterfall fell into the unnatural waters. The sea was deep and fathomless, and where he should have sunk beneath its surface, Squall was able to walk.

He moved closer to the fall, the spray of the water never quite touching his face, and he turned to look behind him where the ocean spread out across the entire land. Coldness moved across him, and he looked towards the sun, expecting a cloud to have moved across it, yet the sky was as clear as he remembered it and the bird still soared in large, lazy circles. The air turned frosted, and Squall began to breathe cold, white air. He lifted his hands and noticed the terrible white scars that marred his skin, and though he felt no sudden panic, he was suddenly uncomfortable in this place. 

'I’ve been waiting for you'. A familiar voice rumbled behind him, and with a startled hitch in his throat, Squall turned to see Griever. The lion was as large and as beautiful as he had been in life, and he gazed at the Gaian with a serene expression. He sat amongst the waters, and though he should have sunk beneath the waves as Squall should have, he appeared suspended in them. 

Squall was overcome with relief and his knees weakened to the point of falling, though he remained standing. 

'Griever!' He called, the presence in his mind so comforting and familiar he felt he might start to weep and never be able to stop. 'Where are we?'

'In a place between worlds,' the guardian answered, his graceful poise a sharp relief against the iridescent light of the forest around them. 'I’ve come to warn you.'

'Warn me?' Squall could not concentrate, his love and his grief were so strong in this place all he wanted to do was surrender to it. He felt the pull of another power, so much stronger than anything he’d felt in the waking world, and he longed to follow it.

'You must live.' Griever’s image shone a little brighter, as if he meant to emphasise the words as he spoke quickly and urgently in Squall’s mind. 'There is much work still to be done. I cannot let you fade, though I know how much you long for it.'

'I don’t understand…' A sharp pain blossomed in Squall’s heart and he moved closer to his former guardian. It seemed to take an eternity, but eventually he reached him and Squall sank to his knees before him. The waters lapped around his thighs and the air was still deathly cold, and as Squall reached out to touch the soft fur of Griever’s mane the lion spoke in his mind again.

'There is much to explain and little time to talk. But understand this: you must remain strong.'

Tears sprang to Squall’s eyes at Griever’s cruel words, and he reached forwards and wrapped his arms around the lion’s neck, burrowing his face into the comforting scents. He felt the heat of the animal almost immediately, and it warmed his body from the very centre. Squall felt as though he had been frozen his entire life, and was only now experiencing the sun. 

'I do not want to.' He admitted, relief flooding his body as all of his earthly pains disappeared.

Griever stood and broke their hold and looked down at the Gaian knelt before him. Squall stared back at him, his emotions so open, as they always had been to Griever, and the lion was moved to touch his mind with a comforting blanket of reassurance. 

'You must,' he replied softy, looking towards the edge of the woods. Squall followed his gaze and in the tree line the shape of another animal began to form. 'There is a task that awaits you and another who will guide you.' As he spoke, the shape amongst the trees became clearer, until the image of a large wolf could be seen within the dark shadows of the forest. The animal stood solemnly, watching silently, and Squall felt as though the animals presence had been watching him for eternity. Then, almost as suddenly as the wolf had appeared, the animal rose to its feet and turned back into the woods, melting away into the darkness like a ghost. 

Squall turned back to Griever and knew their time was coming to an end. The lions form had already begun to fade. 

'Don’t…' he pleaded, shaking his head. 

Hold on. Griever replied, seemingly unmoved by the fear and panic in Squall’s call. 

The Gaian watched as Griever disappeared, and with a large sob that filled the clearing with a mournful cry, Squall was once again alone. He closed his eyes and tried to recall the warmth of Griever’s fur, the gentle and soothing sound of his voice in his head, and for a moment, Squall was certain that Griever was beside him again, his mane pressed to Squall’s cheek. 

The Gaian tried to open his eyes, but darkness was all he could see. He felt the shifting, swirling waters around him and he was no longer suspended in them, but drowning. He felt the curious sensation of being caught, and then once again the comforting feel of fur against his face, and as his head broke through the waters of his dream and he came awake, Squall heard himself call Griever’s name. A voice replied, but it was not his guardian’s, though it was deep and familiar, and the uncontrollable panic and sadness in Squall’s heart was eased slightly upon hearing it. 

“Shhh, it’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Squall felt himself being carried, and through the darkness all around him, he recognised the voice. “C…Cloud?”

The captain breathed a quick sigh of relief and held Squall a little tighter. “I’m here,” he murmured quietly. He watched as Squall’s features smoothed out, and his pained expression melted away as the Gaian sank back into another dreamless sleep, and Cloud bundled his cloak a little tighter around him.

It was still perilously cold down in The Bowels, and with a small grunt of effort, Cloud rose to his feet, Squall’s weight a reassuring presence in his arms. 

“It’s time.” Cloud told him, “We’re getting out of here.” Turning for the door, he stepped past the unconscious guard and hurried towards the stairs, twisting his body sideways as he carried Squall upwards and then along the lower corridors. His progress was slow, and behind every corner and turn, Cloud stopped to check the way was clear before he hurried on again, his heart in his mouth as he feared encountering anyone who might recognise them. 

Eventually, Cloud emerged into an upper corridor, and the fresh scent of winter air stole along the passageway. They were close to the outside, and in his mind, Cloud tried to orientate himself, calculating where in the castle he would emerge and how far he would have to travel in secret to the stables. 

The door at the end of the corridor opened onto a scene of billowing white flurries of snow. The moon caught the brightness of the winter night and beyond the high walls around the courtyard, Cloud could see the silhouette of the northern mountains towering on the horizon. 

In front of him, stood like sentinels in the frozen night, was row upon row of leafless trees, their branches fingering upwards into the swirling winds spread like ink stains on white paper, and Cloud recognised the lonely and deserted orchard. Sending a prayer to whichever God had guided him here, Cloud hoisted Squall a little higher into his arms and turned him closer into his neck, protecting his face from the freezing winds amongst the fur collar of his cloak. 

Kicking the door closed behind him, Cloud set off along the wall of the castle and followed it round to the large ornate archway that led towards the barracks. Once past the low, squat buildings, he would be in the inner courtyards, and he would be able to see the light from the stables spilling out onto the icy cobbles.

Cloud kept well into the deep shadows cast by the brilliant moon, and hurried on, his heart stopping in his throat when he heard the rise of stilted laughter coming from the sentries posted outside of the barracks. They carried on the wind, and their proximity was difficult to tell, but Cloud was certain that they were still some distance away. He waited a while in the lee side of a small outbuilding, a half-solid barrel of standing water hiding their crouched position, and Cloud shifted Squall’s knees higher in his arms to keep his bare feet from touching the frozen ground. 

After a while, when all that carried on the wind was silence and snow, Cloud stood again and crept onwards. Pushing thorough the darkness, he passed under the smaller archway that led in to the inner courtyard and just as he’d predicted, he saw the warm and inviting light of the stables spilling out into the bluish night. A huddled figure stood in the gaping doorway, and as Cloud approached from the deepening shadows, he recognised Aerith wrapped up in her winter shawl. 

She spotted him almost at the same time, and Aerith quickly checked behind her to make sure they were alone. At her signal, Cloud dashed the last few yards of open ground and then disappeared into the warmth of the stables. 

“I didn’t think you were coming.” She gasped as she directed them into a nearby stall. She closed the door behind her quickly and turned to watch as Cloud lowered Squall into a built up pile of straw. “How is he?” she asked, her voice urgent and low.

“He’s alive,” Cloud answered, turning to her quickly. “Where is my bag?” he asked looking around. Aerith moved passed him and began to dig beside the sleeping Gaian and pulled out two buried satchels. 

“I packed you more clothes and food as well,” she said as she handed them over to Cloud. “And here, I gathered some warm clothes for Leon. He’ll die of the cold if you take him out there like that.” Even in her grief and distress, she was still able to scold her friend.

Cloud smiled fondly at her as he began to dress Squall. They worked as quickly as they dared, but it was not easy, and once the Gaian was again wrapped in warm clothing and the long swathes of Cloud’s cloak, Aerith paced to the door and checked that the way was clear. 

“Where are the horses?” Cloud asked, hoisting Squall into his arms again. 

“They’re waiting by the west gate. You can’t leave by the main doors; you’ll be seen and stopped. I had Sora take them down the tradesman’s route. We can get to them by the Seaway.”

“The Seaway?” Cloud asked, coming to stand behind Aerith as she checked their escape one last time and opened the door a little wider. 

“An old fisherman’s route, built into the castle walls when the sea used to surround this place. It was used to carry their catch up to the kitchens, but it’s been abandoned for years now. It will be very dangerous, Cloud. Many of the stones have come loose and there is no wall to stop you from falling. But it will take you all the way down to the west gate.”

“Let’s go then.” Cloud replied firmly, nodding his head for her to show him the way. He glanced down at Squall and held him a little tighter, the Gaian’s skin almost as white as the winter outside, and he waited for Aerith to adjust her shawl over her head before he followed her further into the stables. 

At the back, where the thick stone wall separated them from a perilous fall of hundreds of feet below them, Aerith stopped and pushed aside a scattering of straw, to reveal a large trapdoor set into the floor. With a small grunt, she hoisted it open, and immediately a gust of cold wind blew up from the gaping hole and carried with it the old scents of mildew and frozen water. 

“We cannot risk a lamp. We will be visible for miles around if we do. Be careful where you place your feet. I’ll go ahead and guide you down, but once we are out on the cliff face you will have to keep well into the wall.”

Cloud nodded his understanding and watched as Aerith stepped into the blackness. He could see the beginning of a staircase in the dimness, and gingerly, he placed his foot onto the first step and followed her down. Once they were within the darkness, Aerith halted him.

“Wait here.” She said, squeezing past him to reach up and pull the trap door back into place. She groped her way back in front and placed a reassuring hand on Cloud’s arm. He felt her move and he followed her; their decent into the darkness painfully slow as they nudged their way down. 

Gradually, after what felt like an age, the shape of the blackness changed, and a paler shade of grey began to form at the end of a long tunnel. As they drew closer, Cloud could hear the raging winds and taste the bitter snow on the back of his tongue. Eventually, they emerged from the tunnel, and Cloud’s breath was stolen from him as they were buffeted back against the craggy cliff face and he had to steady himself as the weight of the Gaian in his arms almost toppled him over the narrow precipice. 

Cloud took a few moments to centre himself, and when he opened his eyes his breath was stolen from him once again at the sight of the mountains and the vast valley stretching out far below them. With no ground beneath them, it felt as if they were flying, and Cloud’s head began to spin with a sickness he had never felt before. He wobbled on his legs and only the hard grip of Aerith’s hand on his elbow stopped him from toppling over the edge. 

“Don’t look down. Keep your eyes on me and just keep moving!” Aerith cried over the screaming winds, the loose strands of her hair whipping around her face as they came free from her shawl. 

Cloud nodded, ducking his head into his chin as he pulled Squall against him and he turned his body deeper into the wall. He followed Aerith downwards, step by agonising step, as they fought against the buffeting winds that seemed to want to lick them away from the side of the castle and toss them into the great expanse below them. 

Cloud’s hands and face were frozen by the time they reached the bottom, and they stopped a moment to catch their breaths, huddled against the rocks where the winds were quieter and not so fierce.

Aerith peered out into the night, and checking above her, looking towards the west sentry gate, she made sure the guard was nowhere to be seen before she raised her fingers to her lips and gave three short whistles. 

The sound of a horses’ snicker broke through the empty night, and Cloud watched and waited as the shadow of a small boy and two large horses emerged from a hidden doorway set deep into the rocks. The boy hurried towards them, the horses cantering along behind him and he came to a quick stop before Aerith and beamed up at her. 

“Didn’t think you were comin’,” Sora gasped with relief. “Whats all this about?” his eyes widened as he looked past Aerith and noticed Cloud, the bundle in his arms still a mystery to the stable boy even as he recognised it as a person. “What’s Lord Strife doing here, who’s that he’s got?”

Aerith took Sora by his shoulders and turned him away, bending slightly at the waist to meet his eye as she looked at him so seriously, Sora immediately closed his mouth and let the questions on his tongue die away. 

“Go back to the castle, Sora. If anyone should ask you, you were asleep the whole night. If you tell anyone we were here, your life will be in danger, do you understand?”

Sora nodded firmly, his face grave as he looked back at Cloud still hidden in the shadows, and his gaze fell to the bundle he held in his arms. 

“You’re taking him home, aren’t you?” he asked, though he did not need the answer. 

Cloud nodded, his gaze still wary though the innocent and earnest look in Sora’s eyes was heart-warming. Sora nodded once and turned back to Aerith. “I won’t tell anyone, you can count on me.”

Aerith cupped his face and pulled him into a short hug before she let him go and watched him run back to the gate, his messy brunet hair melting into the darkness as he disappeared. 

“Aerith, Squall won’t be able to ride. You’ll have to take the other horse back.” Cloud said urgently as he stepped out of the shadows.

“I’m not going back.” Aerith replied, turning the horses to check their tack. 

“What?”

“I’m coming with you.” Aerith slung the bag from her shoulder and hoisted it up onto the pack saddle. Securing it tightly, she turned to Cloud and brought his horse round for him to mount. 

“I can’t let you do this,” Cloud shook his head, taking the reins. “It’s too dangerous.”

“And staying here at Avalanche isn’t?” Aerith countered, adjusting the stirrup slightly. “If I’m caught, and they find out I’ve helped you escape, they’ll kill me. And what do I have to stay for anyway?” Aerith had meant her voice to sound hard and resigned, but it wobbled at the last. She tugged hard at the straps and made the horse jolt a little in her sudden anger, and with a sigh that let out her tumultuous emotions, she placed her hands on her hips and stared hard at the ground. “Zack’s gone,” she managed to say, though her throat was tight with emotion. “And after tonight you will be too. There is nothing left for me here anymore. Besides,” Aerith seemed to shake herself and she levelled Cloud with a hard and unwavering stare. “You’ll need my help if we’re going to keep Leon alive until we reach Balamb. You can’t do this alone.”

Cloud stared at her for a long time, the bitter wind cutting through the silence and stirred their clothes, and as hard as he tried to argue with her reasoning, he could not deny that he needed her. Despite the help that she could offer him, just the thought of leaving her behind was too painful to actually execute, and all he felt was relief that she would be with him. 

“Alright,” he finally said, nodding his head. “Help me up.”

Aerith kept the horse as still as she could and Cloud steadied Squall in his arms as he slipped his foot into the stirrup. With a groan of effort, he hauled himself onto the horse, keeping the Gaian tucked into his arms, and settled himself in the saddle. 

“I’ll need something to keep him secure.” Cloud called down, watching as Aerith pulled a thin blanket from the saddle pack. She threw it around Cloud’s shoulder and stepped around the other side of the animal to tie the edges at Cloud’s waist, creating a crude sling that would free Cloud’s hands to take the reins. Squall’s legs dangled free on one side, but his body and face were cradled securely against Cloud’s, and with a little shuffling, Cloud was able to seat himself comfortably, and he turned the horse out towards the vast planes. 

He waited for Aerith to mount her own horse, and when they were both seated, he pointed towards the distant mountain range.

“We head directly north. Once we’re under the cover of the forest, we’ll head east towards Nibelheim, and cut behind the First and Second armies. Just follow the river.” He told her, nodding towards the small outlet that gurgled from an aqueduct in the side of the cliff face. At this point, the waterway was little more than a trickling, slushy stream of frozen water and ice, but it would mask their scent from the dogs and hide their tracks from soldiers. 

Aerith nodded and watched as Cloud kicked his horse into action, following quickly behind as they sprang forwards into the night, and disappeared into the swirling eddies of falling snow. 

*******

The young boy stood shivering in the gently falling snow and watched the General move through his slow and graceful moves. He clutched tightly to the small wrap of paper in his freezing hand and swallowed nervously, his heart climbing into his mouth as he waited for the General to stop and notice him; unsure if he should raise his voice and distracting him from his ritual practice. He watched the elegant arc of Sephiroth's great sword swing down in a smooth and precise motion, the metal blade singing through the still air, and then lift up again as the great warrior raised it above his head and came to a graceful stop. The broad muscles of his back flexed in poised anticipation, before the General relaxed his stance and stood still and silent.

“What do you want, infantryman?” Sephiroth’s smooth and clear voice startled the young solider, and chocking on a bit of spit, he stumbled forwards and approached his General.

“A bird came for you, my Lord.” He passed the scrap of paper over and quickly snatched his hand back. He gasped and flinched as Sephiroth flicked his sword up with a swish, and carefully slid it into its holster. 

Carefully peeling the message open with his long and delicate fingers, Sephiroth read it, crumpling it immediately, and looked directly at the infantryman.

“Where is Lord Rhapsodos?” 

“At camp. He… he councils with Kunsel.” The boy replied, pointing behind him at the rows and rows of neatly arranged tents, small cook fires dotted here and there, as pillars of blackened smoke wafted into the grey afternoon. 

“When did he return?” Sephiroth’s eyes flicked up and pinpointed the large tent.

“My Lord?” the boy stuttered, losing the General’s meaning.

“Kunsel; when did he return?”

“Just now, my Lord.” The infantryman answered quickly.

Sephiroth turned sharply, picking up his long leather coat from the damp snow, and made directly for the large council tent stood some distance away on the gentle cusp of a hill. Pulling back the tent flap, he threw the coat onto the closest chair; his brash entrance turning the heads of the two officers stood talking by the flames of a brazier. 

“A little cold for your morning eccentricities, isn’t it Sephiroth?” Genesis spoke, glancing down at the General’s bare chest. 

“I received a message from Angeal.” Sephiroth replied, ignoring the subtle taunt. He passed the red head the crumpled slip of paper and watched his face carefully as he read it. 

“What do you plan to do about it?” Genesis crumpled the paper again, throwing it into the flames with an idle toss. 

“I go to Corel.”

Genesis nodded, “Then I go too.”

“No, I need you here to command the First and Second while I’m gone. If there is trouble, I may need you.”

Genesis could not fault the logic, and nodded again. “Our plan to infiltrate the boarders has failed. Kunsel returns to report that all his men are dead,” Genesis gave the officer stood beside him a sparing glance from the corner of his eye, “It seems the forests are still well protected.”

Sephiroth did not even spare Kunsel a glance. “We will devise a contingency plan when I return. For now, matters at Corel take priority.”

“When will you leave?” Genesis asked, knowing it was futile to argue. Sephiroth’s mind was made up. Besides, he had never failed to respond when Angeal had called.

“Right now.”

Genesis turned to Kunsel “Have a horse prepared immediately,” And watched as the lieutenant left quickly to follow his orders. “What are you thinking?” he asked of the General once they were alone. 

“I can’t be sure. But I fear the situation with the King has finally taken a turn for the worse. Angeal would never use the crows unless absolutely necessary; the political climate at Avalanche must be worse than we thought.” Sephiroth’s eyes flashed with hidden thoughts as he frowned down at the ground. 

“And all the while we sit here being moved around like pawns on a chess board.” 

“Careful, Genesis. Treason is not in my mind. We must maintain the status quo. Any advance towards, or retaliation from, Balamb could destroy us. We must prevent the King from this foolishness, but we must also be careful not to tip the balance in Balamb’s favour. We must maintain these border skirmishes, and keep the Gaians from knowing our intentions.”

“The loss of the King would be catastrophic,” Genesis agreed, meeting Sephiroth’s powerful gaze. “Of course all of this is hearsay until Angeal confirms it.”

“Which is why I go now. It will take me five days to reach Corel.”

“I still wish you would let me go with you.” Genesis replied, placing his hand upon Sephiroth’s arm to stop him from leaving. The General looked down at the leather clad fingers and moved to cover them with his own.

“We have already discussed this,” he spoke gently, yet firmly. “If it is a trap, I will need you.”

“Why would Angeal lure you towards a trap?” Genesis moved closer, bridging the small gap between them as he reached up to brush a few strands of loose silvered hair behind Sephiroth’s ear.

“It may not have been Angeal who sent the message. I would trust Angeal with my life. If he needs me, I cannot ignore him.” Sephiroth shook his head and tried not to be distracted by the warmth of Genesis’ hand pressed against his cheek.

The red head frowned and stared hard at the General’s mouth, seeming to weigh up the argument in his mind before he sighed and seemed to deflate slightly. He leaned in and kissed Sephiroth, the taller man allowing the simple and chaste affected before Genesis pulled back and dropped his hand.

“I understand. I fear for him too.”

“I will convey your concerns when I see him.” Sephiroth shifted uncomfortably. He’d always hated that look of distress in Genesis’ eyes.

“It has been too long since we were last all together.” The captain said, stepping back to give them both a little room. “Maybe when this war is over, we will be again.”

“I hope you are right.” Sephiroth agreed solemnly. He broke their gaze and looked away towards to entrance. “I will be back as soon as I can.”

Genesis watched him leave; raising his fingertips to his lips, he caressed the place where Sephiroth had kissed him, and then turned back towards the comforting heat of the flames. 

*******

Edea felt the ethereal pull of the future turn her dreams towards the vision that sat upon the periphery of her sleeping mind. Letting go of the images of her dream, she opened her thoughts as if turning to face the sun, and let the warm vision pass through her. 

Opening her eyes, she could see large rolling waves crashing against the pebbled shore, its foaming waters grey and cold and bleak. On the headland, stood a dense forest, crowded around the base of a mountain she knew that lay to the south. Its familiarity was jarring in such a strange and soundless place. High above she saw the shadow of a great bird pass over, yet there was no sun to cast it, and on the rocky beach, ahead of her, walking in step with one another, where shadowed figures in the image of her foster children, Ellone and Squall. 

'This can’t be…' Edea thought, the voice in her head carrying across the great expanse of silence, yet the figures did not look up as they walked. '…This is what should come to pass, yet my son is taken from me.' 

The voice of her Guardian replied softly and reassuringly in her mind, though her body was not in the vision. 'Taken,' she agreed, 'But to return?'

'How is that possible?' Edea gasped, watching the two figures walk, yet they never drew any closer. Suddenly, as if they had heard their Matron calling them, they stopped and looked up, staring hard at Edea though they should not have been able to see her.

Within Edea’s mind, images came and went within the blinking of an eye, as if someone flipped through leaves of paper in her memories, before the flickering visions became too much and Edea raised her hands to her temples and spoke clearly: 'Stop, child.' Immediately, the cascading images ceased, and her memories receded, leaving only the visions of the silent storming beach, the forests and mountains, and the two figures. Ellone smiled delicately, as if very happy.

'Their birth foretold a great destiny,' Ultimecia spoke in Edea’s mind, reminding her of the fateful night the pair had been brought into this world, their twin birth an uncommon and symbolic thing rarely seen amongst their people.

'It was never certain,' Edea replied, shaking her head. Her gaze flicked to Squall, who stood staring back at her with a clam and level expression – so serious and earnest – so much like his living self that Edea almost gave a sob of grief. 'Squall’s death brought an end to that prophesy. This future should not be possible.'

The scenery around them began to change, and with widening eyes, Edea watched as the beach and the trees and the mountains flickered and jumped. The forests began to grow older, and the coast line eroded away. The mountain withered, until it had become half its size, and Edea realised they were still in the same place, yet hundreds of years into the future. Still, Squall stood placid, his knowing eyes glinting with hidden mirth as he watched Edea’s awe struck face. 

'They are moving time and memory,' Edea whispered, recognising the touch of ancient magic. 'This is what the Lifestream is showing me: their prophesy come to pass.'

'This must only mean one thing,' Ultimecia replied.

'That Squall is still alive…' Edea breathed the words in a delicate hush and felt the pounding of her heart even as she thought them. She looked back towards the image of Squall and her heart stopped its beating. 'He’s alive, and we have left him there!'

Edea turned away from the ghostly shadows of her twin children and broke through the barrier of the vision, letting it fade away to nothing behind her as she surfaced from her dreams with a small gasp, and sat bolt upright in her bed. Beside her, on her tall perch, Ultimecia ruffled her feathers.

“He is alive!” Edea said again, this time aloud. Standing quickly, Edea rushed to the door and pulled back the cloth that covered it. Outside the night was deep and dark, yet her eyes pierced through the blackness to reveal the small huddled huts below her, dotted like stones. Swiftly, she climbed down on to the valley floor and made through the hidden village towards Namine's hut, flicking aside the covering in her doorway, and ducked inside. Carefully she woke the small girl and shushed her with her finger as she looked up at her with wide and bewildered eyes. 

“I have a task for you, child.”

“What is it, Matron?” Namine asked, rubbing her eyes. She was still weary from her journey back from the borders, and although her older kin were already well rested, she had yet to recover. 

“Wake Kairi and take her with you, back to the southern borders,” Edea replied. “Head towards the High Pass, where the people of Nibelheim are settled, and wait to see if anyone comes through.” Edea was no fool. She had called her people back from Midgar for a reason, and she was not about to send a young Gaian back into that terrible country. Her vision had been quite clear; the mountain and the forest was where she would find Squall again; all they had to do was wait. 

“The High Pass?” Namine questioned, looking confused. “But no one from Midgar knows of it. Why would anyone use it?”

“Do not question, child, just go. And hurry.” Edea ushered the young girl out of bed and pushed her bow and quiver towards her, throwing a light shawl over her shoulder as she did. Quickly they packed a small bag, and when she was done, Namine turned to her Matron, her brows drawn down in a hesitant frown.

“Will you not tell me why?” she asked, her long lashes brushing her pale cheeks as she blinked slowly. 

Edea’s hurried mind slowed and her sharp temper softened at the young Gaian’s expression.

“I have had a vision,” she explained cupping Namine's cheek. “Your kinsman, Squall, may still be alive. Should he return, he will come through the High Pass.”

“Squall is alive?!” Namine almost bellowed, the fiery look from Edea quelling her excitement.

“I hope so,” Edea replied, calming the suddenly excited child with a careful hand to the top of her head. “Go, take Kairi, and wait for a sign of him. Tell no one where you’re going.”

“Are you not going to tell Ellone?” Namine asked as she was herded out of her small house.

“Not until I am certain. I do not want to raise her hopes, only to see her grieve all over again.” 

“I understand.” Namine replied, nodding her head seriously. “I will find him.” she added, glancing back up at her Matron with a wondrous look of determination. 

Edea’s heart swelled with pride and love, and the young girl bristled and squirmed against the feelings, brushing them off with awkward embarrassment. She did not like it when she felt Matron’s feelings so strongly, especially when they were about her. 

“I know you will,” Edea replied, smiling gently at her. “But remain on this side of the mountains. I will not lose you to Midgar too.” 

Namine nodded her promise and took off across the village, past the water well, and disappeared into a small cluster of huts on the other side. She and Kairi would be away by sunrise. They would call to her via Ragnarok should Squall be spotted by the borders. 

With a shiver of anticipation and silent dread, Edea wrapped her arms around herself and turned back towards her own home. She would not sleep again tonight, but there was much to think about, and her thoughts turned once again to the image of her fostered son, on that beach in her dreams.

'You were special from the moment you were born. I knew it. You and your sister…' Edea’s attention were drawn sharply to Ellone, and she stopped in her tracks and turned behind her, glancing to the same huddled shape of shadowed huts that Namine had disappeared into. Ellone would be sleeping now, and there was no need to wake her. Yet Edea felt the foreboding sense of building magic, and though she could not see the shapeless mass, she felt the inevitability of Squall and Ellone’s impending futures so surely, she knew her vision had not lied. 'Something stirs within them both.'

Edea turned away again and headed for home, climbing wearily back up to her small hut upon the hill, and disappeared into the darkness inside


	13. Chapter 13

The dirt packed road was windblown and icy, dusted with frost and piles of grit and snow, and frozen puddles that broke apart into a slushy mess as the horses galloped past. They had left the river once it had become too wide and too deep, and Cloud and Aerith had still to reach the mighty bridge across the Silver. Progress was slow, and Cloud worried constantly about the Gaian as he struggled to keep him steady in his arms. Night was descending again, and the moon was hidden behind a thick veil of snow clouds, making the road ahead of them perilous. 

“Cloud, we have to stop,” Aerith called, pulling down the shawl from across her mouth. The wind took most of her words; Cloud glanced over at her and could only just make out the curve of her worried and exhausted features. His arm tightening around Squall’s shoulders and he looked back up the road eager to continue onwards. 

The sound of clattering hoof beats tumbled on the wind and Cloud narrowed his eyes and strained his hearing, and when the sound came again he turned his horse quickly. 

“Into the trees,” he called to Aerith, nudging his horse off the road and into the dense foliage. 

Aerith did not question. She followed Cloud, holding on tightly to the pommel of her saddle as her horse jumped over fallen and rotting tree stumps, ducking her head to keep down to the horse’s neck to avoid low branches. She came up beside Cloud, the spaces between the trees so tightly packed that her knee pressed into the side of Cloud’s leg, and she leaned in close to the captain’s ear and lowered her voice.

“What’s wrong?” she tried to peer out into the blackness to where the road was, yet all she could see were swaying shadows.

“Someone else is on the road.” Cloud answered, keeping his chin down as he stared at the dark space where they had just been standing.

“Someone is following us?” Aerith’s voice caught in her throat and Cloud shook his head.

“No. ahead,” he replied, “They come from the north.” 

Aerith watched and waited, and struggled to pierce the gloom to make out any shapes in the layers of blackness around them. Then, as if a pale and incorporeal spirit came drifting out of the night, a figure appeared on horseback hurtling along the road, his long silver hair streaming out behind him. The ghostly image was gone again in a matter of moments and Cloud felt a tight hand on his elbow.

“Sephiroth,” Aerith hissed, “That was the General!” Cloud frowned down into the fur collar of his cloak wrapped tightly around the Gaian. “What is he doing on the road?” Aerith asked her voice only just discernible over the wind through the high evergreens. “Shouldn’t he be in Nibelheim?”

“Maybe the king called him back.” Cloud shook his head, uneasy with the strange encounter. 

A soft moan broke both of them from their musings and Cloud looked down at Squall, who began to stir weakly.

“Cloud, we need to rest,” Aerith said again, loosening her hold on his elbow.

Cloud lifted a hand and pressed the back of his gloved fingers to Squall’s cheek, his skin so pale and washed of colour, that it did not even blanche. Even the large and purple scar that slashed across his face had turned silvery and tinged with blue. It matched the deep dark bruises under the Gaian’s eyes and the deathly grey pallor of his lips. Squall moaned again, his voice a weak mewl smothered by the howling winds, and Cloud lowered his hand. 

“You’re right. We’ll rest here for a few hours and then press on. I’ll take the first watch.” Cloud offered, nodding his head. 

Aerith slid from her horse, squeezing between the two beasts to take hers by the reins and led it over perilous ground in the dark to a wider clearing. Securing the animal, she turned back for Cloud.

“Here, give Leon to me.” She called up, opening her arms to take the Gaian. Cloud struggled to work the ties and gradually, he lowered Squall, controlling his fall until Aerith knelt down and rested him back amongst the rough foliage.

Cloud hopped down, passing the reins to Aerith as he took her place and knelt next to Squall. The young Gaian was shivering again, his lips trembling violently, as he seemed to fight his way through the darkness of his mind to surface from his sleep. 

Cloud scooped him up, struggling to stand on stiff legs, but he turned and followed Aerith through the thicket to the small clearing. Its earth was hard packed and frozen solid, and it was sprinkled with a light dusting of snow from where the trees had parted to let the flakes fall. On a clear night, the stars would have been so close. Yet tonight, as the captain looked up into the swirling grey clouds and felt the sting of freezing rain on his face, it seemed he had never been further from their presence. 

All three came to an exhausted stop and sank to their knees between the two horses, the animals and the dense network of trees and bramble and foliage protecting them from some of the bitter winds. Aerith helped Cloud settle the Gaian, and when they were sat as comfortably as they could be - Squall’s weight shared between them as they leaned against each other to keep them off the frozen ground – Aerith peeled back the thick fur collar of Cloud’s cloak and pressed her fingers to Squall’s throat. 

The Gaian’s sightless eyes flickered open and his brows dipped in confusion and pain, and he let out a short moan as he tried to turn his head.

“It’s alright,” Aerith soothed, pressing her own freezing fingers to Squall’s cheek “You’re safe.”

“A…Aer…ith?” Squall croaked, blinking hard.

“It’s alright,” Aerith repeated, unsure how to explain all that had happened, “We’re taking you home.” She bent to press her lips against his forehead. 

“Home?” the note of hope in Squall’s voice was painful, and Aerith felt a strange sensation pass through her: as if she felt what Squall felt and was reaching out to comfort him. For a moment, there was the barest hints of colour in Squall’s cheeks, before the sensation startled her so much she lost control, and it tumbled away from her in a collapsing cloud of jumbled emotions. 

“Can we not build a fire?” Aerith asked, her eyes pleading as she looked at Cloud. 

“We can’t risk it,” Cloud shook his head, shuffling a little closer instead and wrapping his arm around Aerith a little tighter. “We’ll be seen for miles around.”

Aerith tried to reach for the strange sensation again, unsure how she had summoned it to begin with, but it was as if she groped in the dark. Her own grief was as disarming as the bitter cold, and she could not concentrate long enough to summon whatever strength she had left. She leaned heavily against Cloud, shivering deeply as she pulled Squall tighter, and tried to close her eyes and find some rest. 

Cloud’s hand wound its way into the cloak and gently grasped Squall’s frozen fingers. He squeezed gently and watched his face closely, and though he did not seem to stir from the heavy pull of sleep he had slipped back beneath, he returned Cloud’s gesture weakly. 

Cloud’s sad smile was small and private, but he huddled against his two friends a little more and turned his cheek to press a kiss to Aerith’s forehead. He was drained and exhausted with fear and grief, yet he sat and watched the dark shadows and listened to the howling winds until dawn, before he reluctantly nudged Aerith awake and coaxed them on their way once again. 

*******

“This is treason, Your Majesty.” Lazard snivelled, raising the handkerchief over his nose in disgust as he stared down at the flyblown corpse of the prince. The body had mottled and turned a gruesome bruised bluish colour, the gaping wound at his neck now dried and crusted like thick black tar, and the dead eyes stared endlessly upwards, seeing nothing. 

The King was stony faced and unmoved as his calculating eyes surveyed everything. “You saw him strike the killing blow?” he asked his eyes fixed upon the flies that crawled in and out of Rufus’ open and bloodied mouth.

“No, Your Grace. The bastard struck me unconscious, but it could only have been him.” Lazard had to turn away, afraid that his stomach might betray him in front of his king if he stared any longer at the gruesome corpse. 

Shinra turned to the white haired man stood next to him, piercing Ansem with fierce pale eyes.

“His signature is strong in this place,” Ansem confirmed, curling his lips and rubbing the tips of his fingers against his thumb as if he detected something gritty and unpleasant. 

Shinra raised a wrinkled brow and looked again at the rotting mess that had been his son. With a down turned mouth that puckered his lips into a sneer if displeasure he turned to the silent solitary figure stood discreetly in the doorway.

“You, fetch Captain Bannock to my council chambers. Once he is summoned, you will go to Corel and take up command there until I send Angeal’s replacement.”

“But… but Your Majesty, Corel is my posting. I was steward to the Lord Angeal.” Lazard almost whined as he threw a sharp look towards Tsung.

Shinra spared him a derisive glance. “No longer. You will assist Ansem, and you will tell him whatever he wishes to know.” He glanced again at Tsung, who bowed deeply and disappeared, his impassive features revealing nothing of the smugness Lazard was sure he felt. Shinra spared his dead son and heir one last pitiful glance before he spoke again, turning to the snivelling steward. “Call for the Brothers and get this fucking mess cleaned up.” With that he turned and swept out of the prince’s chambers, followed closely by Ansem, who kept pace easily with the short and elderly King. 

“It is curious,” Ansem said, his long and delicate hands tucked into his large sleeves, “Lord Strife signature was also strong around the body of Lieutenant Fair.”

“Do not speak to me in riddles, Ansem. Talk plainly, what do you suspect?” Shinra snapped. 

“The evidence cannot be disputed, the bastard was present when both men died, but I find it difficult to reason why.”

“What are you saying?” Shinra asked, stopping short in the draughty corridor.

“Both Lord Angeal and Lord Fair were his friends. His only friends, if I’m correct. It does not seem likely that he would have been instrumental in their deaths. The Prince, I can understand, but Angeal and Lord Fair do not make sense.” Ansem raised a perfectly white brow and stared pointedly at the King. 

“Men may do many strange things in pursuit of power.” Shinra said icily. 

“That is true. The disappearance of the Gaian can certainly be no coincidence. But there are pieces of the puzzle missing. We cannot yet see the whole picture; there may be more to these events than meets the eye.” Ansem replied. 

“I trust your particular gifts may become of use once again,” Shinra said, turning to walk along the corridor once again. “Start with that snivelling steward, Lazard. He was close to both Angeal and the Prince. He may reveal much we do not know.”

Ansem inclined his head and followed the King back towards the council chambers, where Lord Bannock stood waiting. His broad shoulders squared as the King entered and he bowed deeply.

“My deepest condolences to Your Majesty at this difficult time.” He said as he straightened. 

“When I require your hollow sentiments I will ask for them,” Shinra replied, stopping to catch his breath from the brisk walk. He rested a gnarled and weathered hand on the back of his ornate chair, his rings glinting in the flickering candlelight and fixed the brawny captain with a wintry stare. “Lord Strife has fled the castle and the Gaian is missing. We are to presume he has taken him and heads for the mountains. Gather all the resources you can; take men from The Fifth if you must. I want him found alive.”

“Your Grace, you would use Lord Strife’s own men to hunt him?” Bannock replied, hardly able to keep the delight from colouring his words. 

“It has a certain poetry to it,” Shinra replied with a small twitch of his lips.

“And the Gaian?” Bannock asked.

“He is probably dead already and is no longer of any importance. Shinra’s war will bring us all the Gaian’s we will need.” Ansem spoke levelling Bannock with a cutting glare. 

“Bring the bastard back alive, Bannock. Those are your orders.” Shinra said, dismissing the captain with a curt nod. Bannock bowed deeply once again and scuttled away.

“Alive?” Ansem asked, turning to the King with a raised eyebrow. 

“I have no more heirs,” Shinra replied scraping his chair slowly across the flagstones as he pulled it out and sat down, “and as you have rightly pointed out to me, there seems to be more to these events than meets the eye. Regardless, I must think of my lineage before all else; I cannot allow my legacy to die with me. Whatever my bastard has done, it will matter little in the eyes of history.”

“You would reward him for killing your legitimate heir?” Ansem was shocked, though he hid it well under his mask of indifference. 

“As you’ve said, he may not have been the hand that struck the killing blow.” Shinra sat back into his chair, his large furs enveloping him. “And if he was, then I may well have underestimated him. Rufus’ reign would have been a weak and piddling thing. A man who kills for the throne… That I can see strength in.”

“Nevertheless, the law remains quite clear,” Ansem replied, his voice smooth and assertive, “A Strife may never inherit the throne.”

Shinra glanced up at the Baron, his small and cunning eyes glinting like silver in the dimness, the wispy hair around his head like a ghostly, translucent shroud, and he smiled slowly. “Then perhaps it is time we changed the law.”

*******

It was not quite dawn when Sephiroth’s exhausted and spent horse galloped into Corel. The huge beast snorted and bellowed, its massive flanks quivering with exertion and its sides heaved with great breaths as it frothed at the mouth. Sephiroth climbed down, pressing a hand to its neck in silent thanks as he looked around the quiet courtyard and watched the pale sky lighten to a dusky grey. 

Inside the battlements the stonework echoed silence. Only the soft, drifting, lazy spirals of smoke from small fires lifting into the predawn stirred the air, and from the shadows, out of the gloomy morning, came the shape of a small boy. He hurried closer, rubbing his small fists against his tired eyes and as he came to a stop and absently took the horses reigns at the bit, he looked up at the newcomer from under sandy hair and his tired, squinting eyes widened.

“L…Lord General,” Roxas said, standing a little straighter.

“Lord Hewley sent for me. Tell him I have arrived.” Sephiroth’s eyes scanned the tops of the battlements, the quiet morning unnerving him.

“M…my Lord?” Roxas stammered, a coil of dread spreading in his stomach. 

“The Lord Hewley,” Sephiroth repeated himself, his tone a little sharper, “Tell him I have arrived.”

Roxas swallowed past a difficult lump in his throat and looked away over his shoulder, the Lord General’s eyes boring into the top of his head making his skin prickle as he itched to scuttle away. But all around was quiet and there was no help to be found. The news of Angeal’s death had obviously not reached the north, and Roxas silently cursed his fortune. 

“Apologies my Lord General,” he began, rubbing his sweaty palm against his tunic, “but the Lord Hewley was murdered some five nights back. Corel awaits word from the King.”

Sephiroth’s narrow eyes widened and his sharp and angular face became pointed. The subtle change was swift and minute, yet Roxas took a step back, the hairs along his arms and neck standing on end, and he withstood the General’s piercing gaze for a few brave seconds before he quickly looked down at his feet.

“Who is in command here?” Sephiroth eventually asked after long moments of silence. 

“Lieutenant Weiss.” Roxas said, itching to take another step back.

“Take me to him.” The Lord General’s tone left no room for argument, and Roxas nodded quickly, dropping the reigns in his hand. He left the giant beast where it was and quickly made his way across the courtyard, the shadow of the General falling across him in several directions as they passed the sconces on the walls of the inner chamber and climbed the stairs to the upper garrison. As they hurried along the narrow galley they passed a room with its door stood wide open, and flickering candlelight poured from the dimness. Sephiroth stopped, his deep scowl smoothing away to nothing as his eyes fell upon the bier and the body carefully laid to rest upon it. 

Angeal had been dressed in rich black cottons edged in gold, and thick, highly polished leather armour, its surface gleaming in the soft glow of the candles. Around his shoulders, caressing his blanched, colourless cheeks was his large thick cloak edged in bear fur. His hair had been combed back to reveal his closed eyes, and on his chest, clutched in his lifeless hands, was his beloved sword.

Sephiroth stepped into the room, the small stable boy, hovering on the threshold as he watched the great warrior approach the dais, slowly, as if afraid to touch it. He stood there, seemingly frozen in time, staring down at the body of the captain, until eventually he raised his hand and peeled his glove off, and then gently placed it against the captain’s forehead. 

Roxas stood and watched the strange and tender moment, his racing heart – which had felt like it would beat out of his chest as he had told the General of the terrible news – was suddenly calmed to see the reverence with which the General treated the dead captain; juxtaposed so extremely with the fearsome glare he had endured down in the courtyard. The very air around them seemed fragile with mournful emotion, and although the Lord General did not make a sound, it appeared as though he wept – silently and fiercely – within the privacy of his heart. 

“You there,” the sharp bark made Roxas jump and he stumbled away from the door frame and turned to see a tall man, dressed all in black, his long robes billowing out behind him as he came down the galley. “What are you-” he was cut short as he glanced into the room Roxas was standing outside of, and saw the Lord General, his slightly furrowed brow smoothing out in understanding. “My horse needs tending to, as does the Lord General’s. Go.” He told the boy, dismissing him with a small wave of his hand. 

Roxas nodded eagerly and disappeared, leaving the strange dark man alone on the landing, staring into the quiet room. 

“I did not expect to see you here, Lord General.” Tsung said cordially. 

Sephiroth did not stir. His hand still rested on Angeal’s forehead, his thumb ghosting backwards and forwards along the waxy brow as he stared down at the still and peaceful face. Silence rang out for what seemed like an age, and Tsung was about to speak again when the soft and silken voice of the Lord General broke the tension. 

“Who is responsible for this?”

Tsung stepped into the room, his footsteps echoing in the quiet as the wood creaked beneath his feet. “We do not know,” he replied, folding his hands delicately in front of him, “the King has commenced an investigation. The Royal Prince and a lieutenant were also slain. It appears they may be connected.”

“Which lieutenant?” Sephiroth turned his head slightly, half looking over his shoulder.

“Lord Fair, of The Fifth.”

Sephiroth draw his hand back, slipping on his glove in a sow and patient manner and then turned, squaring his shoulders as he levelled the steward with an unwavering gaze. 

“The Lord Fair and Angeal were close friends.” He said, his jaw tightening imperceptibly. 

“We are aware of the connection, My Lord General. You should also be aware that the Lord Strife is also missing.”

“An attack upon the captains?” Sephiroth asked, suddenly and privately fearing for Genesis. 

“Unlikely, my Lord. It appears Lord Strife fled of his own volition, and took with him an important prisoner the King had great interest in.”

“Speak plainly.” Sephiroth demanded, growing restless, his thoughts still miles away with his lover in the frozen wastelands of the north.

“The Gaian; he was taken two nights back. The same night the Prince and Lord Fair were slain.”

Sephiroth’s brows creased, and he looked back over his shoulder at the dead captain. “Are you suggesting that Lord Strife was behind this?”

“For the moment, there is no evidence to suggest otherwise.” 

“Impossible…” Sephiroth whispered, almost to himself. “The Lord Strife and Angeal were friends, the lieutenant also. They were trained under him,” Sephiroth pierced the steward with another angry glare; his very eyes seemed to accuse the man of lies and treachery. “And what of the Prince, his death makes no sense.”

“It is well known the brothers held no love for each other. There have been rumours of a plot to overthrow the succession for some time now. It was assumed the Prince was somewhat eccentric in his delusions, however, it appears he may have been correct.” 

Sephiroth stood in silence for a long time, as if indecisive about his next move, reluctant to pursue the action he knew he must take. “I go the Avalanche,” he finally said, “I must speak with the King.”

“Will you not stay for Lord Angeal’s committal?” Tsung asked. Sephiroth looked once more over his shoulder, his heart aching to stay and bid one final goodbye, but he knew he could not afford the time. There were seven days of mourning before a body was committed to Jenova’s Light. Sephiroth could not wait; he would be in Avalanche by that time. 

“There are more urgent matters to attend to,” he replied with some difficulty, wanting desperately to turn and place one final kiss to Angeal’s forehead. But instead he curled his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking subtly, nodding his thanks to the steward, and left. 

*******

Tsung swept into Angeal’s quarters without knocking, startling the lieutenant sat behind the large wooden desk, who stood in a flurry of scattered papers. “Get out,” the steward barked, not even waiting to see if Weiss followed his orders.

“What is the meaning of this, who are you?” the lieutenant demanded, recovering himself enough to straighten his shoulders.

“The King has sent me. I am to take command of Corel until a suitable replacement is found. Now remove yourself and return to your post, or I shall do it for you.”

The lieutenant stood silently for a few moments, gauging the strangers bearing and clothes, “The King would have sent orders,” he began, only to be silenced as Tsung drew out a curled, leather bound document. Its seal was already broken, yet the Kings signature at the bottom was unmistakable. The lieutenant scanned the paper, nodding his head as he stood down and bowed shortly before the acting captain. “Apologies, my Lord. These are treacherous times.”

“And you have done your duty. Now remove yourself.” Tsung repeated, watching as the lieutenant bowed once again and left. He closed the door behind him, and Tsung took a moment to look around his new rooms, the quiet snap and hiss of the fire filling the room as he lowered himself into the large worn chair behind the desk, and sat back into the dented cushions. Idly, he toyed with the ring on his middle finger, the large green gem in it capturing the firelight, and the beginnings of the dark dawn as it rose from the windows behind him; the lengthened shadows of the room peeled back to reveal four figures – two men and two women – stood within the recesses of the chambers. 

“You let the bastard escape,” Tsung spoke, his voice low and unaffected by tone.

“Forgive me,” the dark skinned man replied, his bald head wrinkling with his raised brows and insincere concern, “I did not anticipate the lieutenant’s sacrifice.”

Tsung levelled him with an icy stare. “Your ineptitude might have cost us dearly,” he said, still fingering the jewel on his left hand, “Nevertheless, the events that have transpired have played well into our hands. It is unfortunate that the Prince died so soon, he may still have been of use to us. But it is not the end of the world. You did well here, Elena.” Tsung added, flicking his gaze to the blonde haired woman, who nodded subtly in reply. “Sephiroth heads for Avalanche, which means that Lord Rhapsodos commands the First and Second armies. Alone.” He said, eyeing the assassins pointedly. 

“He’s mine,” the second man spoke, his long red hair matching the intensity of the fire. 

“No, Reno. I’m giving Lord Rhapsodos to Cissnei. She will ensure the most crucial part of our plan does not fail.” 

“And what of the Lord General?” the dark skinned man asked, the silver in his ears flashing in the candlelight.

“Patience, Rude. Our benefactor desires his compliance. Should his loyalties lie elsewhere, we will be summoned to deal with him.”

“So what now?” Reno asked, resting his hand against the dagger at his side.

“We wait,” Tsung replied, lowering his hands and wrapping his long fingers around the well-worn arm of the chair, its grain smooth and shiny from long years of weathered hands. “Corel is ours, for the moment, and the Third along with it. Should our benefactor at Avalanche fail, we are in a reasonable position to defend ourselves. We have time.”

“When should I leave?” Cissnei asked, her delicate voice lifting through the dense and smoky air.

“Immediately. You have five days to reach the north.”

Cissnei bowed quickly, sweeping from the room silently.

“The rest of you are to remain inconspicuous. There must be no chance that anyone here remembers you. Do I make myself understood?” the three remaining assassins nodded, throwing each other knowing glances before Tsung dismissed them with a wave of his hand, and the steward was left alone once again in Angeal’s old chambers. 

*******

Bannock and his men stood facing into the blistering winds as snow pelted them savagely from the north east, the frozen rain and snowflakes seeming to cut frostbitten flesh from bone as the captain pulled his scarf up higher over his beard, and peered out into the white wasteland. They had followed the tracks and the howling dogs for well over a day, and had gained ground. The mighty river Silver lay just two miles behind them, and the slowly cresting hill had plateaued out to reveal the barren and sprawling tundra of the frozen north. The dark line of the forest at the foot of the mountains was just barely visible through the snow storm. The tracks that led due north were slowly being covered and the dogs had all perished in the terrible cold, and for one frightening moment, Bannock considered returning to Avalanche, defeated.

“What now, my Lord?” one of his men called from behind him. Bannock turned his back against the howling winds to face them. He had picked two of his own, and a third man from the Fifth, their small numbers offering them speed in their chase, but Bannock’s careful planning would count to naught if the bastard and the Gaian could not be found. 

“The tracks lead into the forest; two miles of open ground. They’re half a day ahead, if that.” Bannock reasoned, still weighing up his choices. He was about to suggest they find somewhere to make camp and wait out the storm, when a small flicker of orange light caught his attention. It came from deep within the forest, and it danced and dimed amongst the trees and the raging storm, and it caused Bannock’s heart to leap with excitement. He quickly sent a prayer of thanks to Jenova, and turned back to his men.

“There,” he cried, pointing towards the light, “they’ve made camp. We press on.” He kicked his horse forwards, off the frozen road and into the deep drifts, and followed the shallow rivets slowly filling in with fresh snow where Cloud had passed hours before. His men followed him, keeping the small flickering beacon within their sights as they slowly drew nearer. 

*******

Their camp at the base of the mountains offered them some protection against the ferocious storm, but the tall trees around them still bent and swayed in the powerful winds. The cutting snow had less bite to it under the branches, but all around them there was a thick blanket of frozen ground and Cloud had struggled to build the fire. He worried that it would reveal their whereabouts, but one glance at Squall’s grey and lifeless face pushed those fears aside, and replaced them with a deeper terror greater than any Avalanche search party. 

The Gaian was nestled deep within the folds of his cloak, and Aerith huddled him nearer to her, sitting as close to the fire as she could, trying desperately to warm him. 

“If he doesn’t wake up and drink something soon, it’s not the cold he’ll die of!” Aerith called above the storm, fear tightening the lines around her eyes as she stared at Cloud helplessly. The captain knelt across from her, trying to shield as much of the light from the tundra behind him as he could, and looked east, peering through the trees. 

“Nibelheim isn’t much further. Another five miles perhaps. If we rest here for an hour we can make it by nightfall.”

“We may not have that long.” Aerith called back, turning Squall’s face into her neck as another gust of bitter wind cut through the trees and took her voice from her. She had never experienced such cold, and she was beginning to fear for her own health. Her fingers had lost all feeling hours ago, and her strength was failing. There had been little sleep, and Aerith felt she might cry from exhaustion.

Cloud looked distraught, and the look on his face twisted Aerith’s heart. She watched him stand and turn, walking away through the trees to the edge of the forest, and she knew he was desperately trying to think of something to save them. She watched his dark silhouette against the whiteness, back straight and shoulders solid, even against the blistering winds, and her heart leaped into her mouth as he reached for the sword strapped across his back.

Cloud went still, his hand never leaving the hilt of his weapon, and after a few moments he turned and ran back to their small camp.

“Scouts!” he called as he skidded to a halt and kicked snow over their small, burgeoning fire, dampening the flames immediately. The heat guttered out and Aerith stared up at her friend with wide terrified eyes. “Two miles away. We don’t have much time!”

Aerith struggled to stand and tried to lift the Gaian into her arms before Cloud took the weight from her and ushered her quickly to her own horse. Once she had mounted, Cloud called up to her, lifting Squall higher for her to take him.

“Here, if they catch up to us I’ll need to fight. I can’t carry him,” he yelled above the deafening wind, “Head east. Don’t stop until you reach Nibelheim, no matter what happens.” He told her, helping her tie the edges of the makeshift sling around her waist. 

“What about you?” she cried, the thought of leaving him behind terrifying her, the horse beneath her seeming to sense their urgency and her distress as it fidgeted and snickered eagerly. 

“Don’t stop, no matter what!” Cloud said, slipping his arm out from Aerith’s tight grasp. He stood back and smacked the horse hard on its rump, making the already spooked animal bolt forwards and break into a half controlled run. It wove amongst the trees as Aerith struggled to regain control, and then it turned due east, disappearing into the darkness of the forest and the blinding snow. 

Cloud returned to the tree line and waited on the edge of the forest, watching as the dark smudge on the horizon drew nearer and the distinct shapes of men on horseback became clear. As they drew nearer he counted them, and began to form an attack in his mind, his hands itching to reach for the sword at his back.

He waited for what seemed like an eternity, until they were barely a few hundred yards in front of him. Slowly he reached up and drew his sword from its hilt, the metal singing in the wind as it was pulled from its scabbard, and the advancing horses reared to a sudden stop. 

“Where’s the Gaian, traitor?” a familiar voice called across the howling winds. 

Cloud recognised the shape of Bannock, and his hands tightened around the hilt of his weapon. “Dead,” he called back, “I threw his body into the river.”

“You’re a liar!” Bannock bellowed, signalling to the men that flanked him, and within the blink of an eye they had charged their horses, and were racing across the last few yards of open ground. 

At the last moment, Cloud knelt, ducking his head under the blade of the first soldier and swept his sword out to the right, cutting the second charging horse’s front legs out from underneath it. The horse went down, rolling the soldier out onto the snow, and Cloud quickly turned to see the first mounted man turn his beast around and charge again. 

The third man had hung back, and was now behind Cloud, boxing him between the three soldiers, the one on the ground scrabbling quickly to his feet.

The soldier in the trees charged, but the horse could not gain traction on the frozen ground and it faltered as it ran at Cloud, who sidestepped and brought his sword down into the animals flank. The horse screamed and buckled, throwing its rider the same way as the first, and Cloud stepped back, allowing himself more room as he pulled a short dagger from his belt and twirled the two weapons in his hands and loosened the muscles in his arms with practised ease. He focused his eyes on the first downed soldier, who had recovered himself and was advancing slowly, and Cloud’s eyes flicked to his feet, judging his weight.

The soldier would lead with his right foot, Cloud knew, bringing his sword down across from right to left. The moment the soldier charged Cloud carved his sword upwards to meet the man’s attack with a ring of steel and parried the blow. He followed it with a swift upper cut, using the pommel of his sword to break the man’s nose, and as the soldier staggered back, dropping his sword to clutch at his bloodied face, Cloud struck out with his dagger and ran it through the side of his neck. 

Cloud didn’t stop to watch him fall. He yanked the blade out and turned quickly to face the second unhorsed solder who approached him with more caution. Cloud watched his form, unsure about his weight distribution, and found it hard to gauge his favoured side. He was out of time, and the soldier surprised him by lifting his sword high above his head, attacking from neither the left nor the right, and Cloud was forced to cross his sword and dagger above his head to protect himself. 

The manoeuvre left both of his sides exposed, and the solder quickly drew his sword back and spun, the metal rasp of his blade sending sparks into the air as it grated against Cloud’s and in the blink of an eye he had turned within Cloud’s circle and ducked inside his guard.

Cloud felt the dull sting of a knife slash his side and he pulled away, unlocking their swords. He lost his dagger as it was flung out of his reach and he staggered a little, pressing a hand to his ribs with a wince and when he pulled it away, fresh blood coated his glove. Gritting his teeth, he placed both hands back on the handle of his sword and set his body sideways, protecting his injured ribs. 

The soldier attacked again, cutting low, aiming for Cloud’s legs, and Cloud jumped back, blocking the low blow with the back of his sword. He let go with one hand and struck out, punching the soldier in the face, and with a grunt of effort Cloud put weight through his injured side and kicked his leg out, buckling the soldier’s knees and collapsed him like a deck of cards into the snow. The tip of the soldier’s sword caught in the frozen ground and it sprung away from him, a short cry of frustration filling the air as Cloud threw his own sword back and lifted it awkwardly behind him with his weak arm, and brought it down in an inelegant arc across the solder’s face, splitting it in two with a single wet squelch, and a short, sickening crunch of bone. 

The man fell backwards, sprawled out onto the bloodied snow, and Cloud hobbled back clutching his side. He eyed the last horsed soldier, who had stood silently watching as his comrades had been cut down, and made no move to attack. 

“Kill him!” Bannock’s voice rose above the winds. He pointed angrily towards Cloud, his horse turning wild circles in the churned up snow and mud, and Cloud’s gaze flicked back to the soldier and watched him shake his head. “Kill him now, you coward!”

Again the soldier refused to attack, and Cloud took the time to steady himself on his legs as he breathed hard through the pain in his side. He watched as Bannock drew his horse nearer to the soldier and reached out to take the man by his throat. There was a short struggle, and Cloud watched with brows knitted low in confusion as Bannock pulled a knife from his belt and tried to run it through the soldier’s neck. 

The struggle pulled them both from their horses, and Bannock landed on the shorter man. It took a few moments for the captain to clamber to his feet, but the younger soldier did not rise. He lay still and unmoving, and Cloud saw the flash of bloodied silver as Bannock wiped the blade and sheathed it back in its scabbard. 

“Just you and me now boy!” Bannock called, reaching for his own long sword. He pulled it free and swiped it left and right across his great, broad body, the metal singing in the wind as he slowly advanced. Cloud spread his legs again and settled his weight back onto his left foot. It would make his next attack obvious, but he couldn’t afford to fall. If Bannock brought him down, he was done for. 

Bannock charged, taking Cloud by surprise, and he ducked quickly under the mighty captain’s long reach as Bannock over extended himself and stumbled forwards almost toppling headlong into the icy quagmire. Cloud spun quickly, seizing the captain’s exposed back with a slash of his longsword, catching Bannock’s meaty leg with a satisfying squelch. Bannock screamed in agony, roaring into the crushing wind as he gripped his leg and turned. He lumbered forwards, swinging his sword left and right in an uncoordinated frenzy, and Cloud hopped backwards, missing the tip of his blade by inches as he danced away.

Raising his sword to block the next swing, the clang of metal reverberated across the open tundra and sent numbing shockwaves down Cloud’s arms. His grip loosened on the hilt, and in the next attack, Bannock cleaved the sword straight out of Cloud’s hands as he lost control of the weapon, and it was flung away into the snow. 

Bannock advanced quickly, swinging his sword upwards, and he clipped Cloud on the chin cutting his skin. The shock sent Cloud tumbling backwards and he landed with a breathy wheeze, staring straight up into the billowing sky above. The looming shadow of Bannock fell over him and as Cloud quickly looked left and then right, searching for any kind of escape route, his gaze fell upon the hilt of his dagger, half buried in the slush. Rolling quickly, as Bannock heaved his own sword above his head, Cloud grasped the dagger and rolled back, plunging the knife into Bannock’s foot.

The captain gave an almighty bellow, dropping his sword behind him, and Cloud drew the dagger out, scrabbling to his feet quickly and slashed upwards severing Bannock’s throat in a bloody spray that hit Cloud in the face with hot spurts of gore.

Bannock’s cry of rage was cut short as blood pooled in his mouth, and he gurgled through his last desperate breaths as he slowly sank to his knees. His eyes were wide and bewildered and he clutched at his throat and then fell sideways, squirming in the churned up snow. Eventually he stopped moving, and the sound of rushing blood slowed in Cloud’s ears and all he could hear was his own harsh breathing and the moaning wind. 

Cloud dropped the dagger and fell to his knees, clutching at his side. It took a few moments to regain his strength, and once the blizzard had begun to cover the fallen bodies, Cloud pulled himself to his feet and looked back towards the darkened tree line. He stumbled towards it, picking up his longsword as he passed and made his way back to their small makeshift camp where his horse still waited. With a groan of pain, he hoisted himself into the saddle and turned the animal east. With a swift kick of his heels, the horse bolted, taking him towards Nibelheim where he hoped to find Squall and Aerith, still alive and in once piece.


	14. Chapter 14

Aerith hovered at the edge of the forest and stared down into the town of Nibelheim. Nestled away in the basin of the mountains, the raging storm passed largely unnoticed by the townsfolk; only the howling winds that clipped the towering fortress of the North Mountains and bent the trees like the backs of aged men gave any sign of the perilous weather, and Aerith licked her froze lips in nervous indecision. 

Should she press on and enter Nibelheim without Cloud? She’d be lost amongst the squat buildings within moments, and she’d draw attention to herself asking the way to the local tavern. But she needed to get Leon somewhere warm, and she couldn’t hold out for Cloud much longer. Night had fallen some time ago, and only the twinkling lights from the candles and the torches in the windows of the town below lit the complete blackness of the night. It would be perilous enough climbing down from the small rise she stood on with the bundle in her arms, and on horseback, but she’d no other way of carrying the Gaian. 

With a frustrated sigh of indecision, she peered back over her shoulder into the densely layered darkness of the forest. The wind took all approaching noise with it, rendering it almost impossible to tell if something was coming. But a shifting shadow, only slightly less complete than the darkness around it caught her attention, and Aerith’s back stiffened in warning. She narrowed her eyes and tried to peer through the night when the shadow moved again, growing closer and more distinct, until the shape of a man on a horse became clear and Aerith let out a shaky breath of relief as she recognised Cloud’s silhouette.

“What happened to you?” she asked, her relief turning to anger as she recalled the moment she’d realised she was alone and that Cloud was not following her. Cloud pulled his horse to a stop beside her and as the moon slipped in and out of the rolling clouds it cast its silvery pale light on the captain and Aerith drew a sharp breath in.

“They caught up to us,” Cloud lied, avoiding her concerned eyes.

“You’re hurt,” Aerith reached out and turned Cloud’s face towards her, too much gore and dried blood on his face to work out where it was coming from. 

“It’s not mine,” Cloud said, removing his face from her gentle fingers with a wince. He gripped a little tighter to the wound at his side. “Well, most of it.”

“We need to get you both somewhere safe. How far is it to this friend of yours?”

“Not far,” Cloud pointed to a large building on the edge of the town, its windows brightly lit and its chimney smoking industriously. It was positioned on the road into town, and there were a few wagons and small carts lined up in the snowy yard beside it.

“It’s a fair way down.” Aerith commented, peering over her horses head to try and pick a path down amongst the jutting rocks.

“There’s a trail not too far ahead,” Cloud told her, climbing down from his horse with a grunt. He seemed to wobble a little as he steadied himself, and then with a small shake of his head he tied his horse to Aerith’s saddle and took the lead horses reigns by the bit. “I’ll take us down. Just hold on.”

He turned the animal away from the sheer drop and along the ridge until they came to a small hidden path lying deep within the snow. They followed it, winding backwards and forwards until they had descended into the basin and the howling winds had died enough to hear the fragile night. Whispers of laughter came floating across the frigid air, and the scents of peaty smoke and ale and bread turned the traveller’s noses to the wind and set their empty bellies rumbling.

Cloud brought the horses to a stop within the shadows of the yard near the wagons and carts, just outside the pool of light cast by the tavern’s front stoop. “Wait here,” he said, before he left her and wearily approached the building. He didn’t enter through the front door, but instead melted into the shadows of the stables and was gone for what seemed like an eternity. 

The warm smells and sights of the inn were almost overwhelming to Aerith, and she longed for the heat of a fire and the satisfying comfort of a full belly. With an inpatient sigh, she looked down at Leon and watched his small, laboured breaths stir the fur collar of the cloak pressed against his cheek, and waited.

*******

Seventh Heaven had passed into the care of Tifa Lockhart the moment her father had died five years earlier. The building had always been in her family’s possession, since the founding of the town, and had been one of the cornerstones of Nibelheim for hundreds of years. Townsfolk and travellers alike knew Seventh Heaven like a second home, and there had been no shortage of travellers in the past few months. Shinra’s army, which had been camped outside Nibelheim on the other side of the foothills for near enough six months, had brought with them their own kind of trade and trouble. Not that Nibelheim was short on its own troubles, Tifa mused as she wove through the crowd picking up empty tankards and stacking them on the large tray she carried. 

The arrival of the First and Second armies had swollen the population of the town, and it had barely been able to keep itself on its feet to begin with. More mouths to feed and feet to shoe. There was next to nothing to go around, and the extra coin in people’s pocket hardly seemed to placate weary grumbles and mutterings.

In between the heaving, bulky bodies of men that crowded the bar wove the smaller, spritelier figures of children as they scurried between legs and under chairs, mopping and swabbing the floors. They threw down extra handfuls of straw to soak up the larger spills, and some carried trays of small pies and bread, fetching and serving hungry patrons. 

Seventh heaven wasn’t just a refuge for travellers; it was a home to the lost children of Shinra’s new world too. 

Nothing grew in the savage north anymore. The cold and the ice had eaten away at fertile lands and what provisions and supplies that came in from the south – where eternal winter’s icy fingers had not quite reached yet – were few and far between. Many had perished in the years that had followed Shinra’s conquest, and their deaths had not been in glorious battle, but a slow, desperate starvation; they left behind their hungry children, cold and alone, to fend for themselves. It was easy to understand why so many townsfolk resented an army eating away at what little they had left. 

Tifa’s tavern wasn’t exactly the safest place in the world, but it was better than a slow and cold death. At least, that’s what Tifa tried to tell herself as she watched the children work. 

With little time to feel guilt or sorrow, Tifa turned to duck and weave her way back towards the bar, where plenty of thirsty men waited with empty mugs, when she felt a sharp tug at her skirts. She glanced down to see the smallest of her adopted children staring wide eyed back up at her. 

“Tifa, there’s a man in the kitchen!” Marleen exclaimed, tugging a little harder.

“That’s Cid.” Tifa told her, balancing the tray precariously in one hand above her head to make room for a broad shouldered blacksmith. She reached down and petted the young girl’s hair.

“No, it’s not, “Marleen exclaimed, shaking her head furiously. “He told me to come and find you, he said it’s important.”

Tifa frowned down at the young girl, dubious about her story but more than willing to humour her. “Fine,” she relented, smiling softly, “Why don’t you show me?”

Marleen clutched tightly to Tifa’s fingers and turned them both back into the crowd, the little girl’s four year old legs working twice as hard to keep up as Tifa guided them behind the bar and pulled the leather curtain back from across the door that separated the kitchen.

Tifa startled and froze in mid step across the threshold, Marleen tugging excitedly on her hand as she pointed to the man stood in the shadows of an alcove. He looked frozen and tired, his face smudged with dirt and dark stains that glistened wetly in the flickering light, and he carried with him the scent of sweat and horse and icy winter winds. He gazed softly back at them both, his tired eyes full of relief and fondness, and with a soft incline of his head, a smile touched the corner of his mouth.

“Hi, Teef.”

Tifa let the curtain fall back across her shoulders and released her hold on Marleen’s hand. She looked down at the small child and with a quick tilt of her head she shooed her out. 

“What are you doing here?” Tifa said, her voice lowered to a near whisper.

“I need your help,” Cloud replied, his expression turning guilty. 

“What have you done now?” Tifa chided, hands on hips as she recognised that look all too well. She’d seen it often as a child. The King had resented his bastard from the moment he’d set eyes on him, and at every chance he’d sent his illegitimate son back to his hometown with the most transparent of excuses. First as a lowly serving soldier, and then again when he’d received his captaincy. The north was wild and full of monsters, and King Shinra never failed to find work for the Fifth up near the mountains. Not that Tifa had minded of course. She waited for her friend’s return from the moment he left. He was her link to the outside world and she cherished every moment he was home. Despite the trouble he sometimes brought with him. 

“I need a couple of rooms, just for the night. I’m heading over the borders tomorrow.”

“The borders?” Tifa took a step down into the kitchen, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Will you help me?” Cloud asked.

“You answer me first.” Tifa shot back, the news of Cloud’s sudden arrival and then departure stealing her patience. 

“I’m travelling with someone. He’s hurt, badly, and we need somewhere to rest.” Cloud was being deliberately vague and Tifa knew it. 

“You’re bringing an injured man under my roof,” Tifa squared him with a look that pinned him to the wall. “I think I got a right to know the whole story.”

Cloud sighed and then regretted the harsh exhale, wincing as his side throbbed.

“The Gaian,” he began slowly, measuring Tifa’s expression with careful eyes. “I’m taking him back to Balamb.”

“The Gaian?”

“The one they captured near here in the forest.”

Tifa was silent for a long time, her expressive eyes boring into Cloud’s as the implications of his words sank in.

“The King asked you to do this?” Tifa inched closer as she raised an eyebrow and battled with the pit of dread that had opened up in her belly.

Cloud shook his head and whispered “No.” and he watched as Tifa dropped her arms to her sides and clenched her jaw, her worried frown melting away to reveal a stone cold stare of disbelief. “I’m not coming back to Midgar.” He told her softly.

Tifa didn’t reply, only shook her head softly with disbelief, her chin wobbling slightly. 

“I promise I’ll explain, just, please… I need your help.” Cloud was as close to begging as he’d ever come. 

Tifa’s lips thinned as she looked away, her fists clenching a little harder before she gave the slightest almost imperceptible nod of her head and ground out a reluctant “Fine.”

Cloud let out a steady breath of relief through his nose.

The radiating light from the front of the tavern revealed an inky black shadow within the folds of the night; the rumps of two horses clear in the curving crescent of flickering torches. Tifa followed Cloud through the cold to the ominous shapes and was surprised to see that the other rider was not a Gaian, but a woman. She moved awkwardly, shifting something in her arms as Cloud stopped at her side and reached up to help her, and for a moment, Tifa could not make out what they struggled with, until Cloud hefted the bundle into his arms and then Tifa could make out the shape of two legs dangling from the deep folds of a cloak. 

The woman climbed down, unbuckling the pack from the saddle, busying herself as she sensed the difficult tension in the air.

“Here, let me take that.” Tifa offered, holding her hand out for the pack as her eyes darted between the woman and Cloud. Reluctantly, Aerith passed it over, and slowly they made their way towards the stables and the back entrance to the tavern. Tifa kicked the stable boy awake as she passed; a young man about sixteen winters. He had come to her two years previous with a younger sister who had perished not long after they’d arrived. 

“Demyx, see to the horses.” She told him, not slowing down. She guided them through the back door, sliding it shut and bolting it securely behind her as she ushered them into the kitchen.

“You’ll have to wait here until we close, or you’ll be seen. Can he wait till then?” Tifa asked, nodding at the bundle in Cloud’s arms. 

“We’ll be fine. I just need some hot water.” The woman spoke, reaching for the pack in Tifa’s hands. Tifa watched as she pulled a box from within its deep pockets and slid the top open, revealing small jars and pots of ointment. She placed them on the central kneading table and carefully selected a few vials. “Place him by the fire,” she instructed Cloud, who turned and did as he was told. 

Tifa watched in fascination as they laid the body down gently and slowly peeled back the layers of wool and fur to reveal a pale and sickly looking youth. The low rumbles of fear in her belly subsided, and gave way to rapt curiosity as Tifa watched the gentle way Cloud cupped long and delicate fingers between his own hands and blew on them, attempting to warm the freezing digits with his breath. She watched as the woman tipped steaming water from the pot over the fire into a tanned tankard and mixed the strange smelling concoction firmly. 

“What happened to him?” she asked, drawing nearer as Cloud settled behind the youth and cradled him into a low sitting position. 

“Shinra.” Cloud replied, pressing his fingers against the pale neck to check his pulse. The woman knelt before the pair, still viciously stirring the strange drink.  
“Will he be alright?”

Cloud didn’t answer. Instead he carefully cupped the youth’s face and lightly tapped his cheek. It took a few moments, but the boy stirred, and eventually opened his eyes long enough to sense the heat of the fire and the warm body at his back. 

“Drink this,” the woman said, holding the cup to his lips. Cloud took the tankard off her and helped the youth to drink, his worried gaze carefully assessing each mouthful.

Tifa stared so long she began to feel uncomfortable and she cleared her throat with an awkward croak. “I’ll go and get your rooms ready.” She rasped, throwing the strange woman another glance as she passed and disappeared through the curtain to the other side of the bar. 

Cid gave her an annoyed look, throwing his hands up in an exasperated expression, before he noticed the strangeness in Tifa’s eyes that made him think twice about nagging. He shook his head and went back to pulling the beer through the pump, grumbling to himself as he splashed the tankard down on the bar with a thump as she passed. 

Tifa would have to deal with Cid later. She had more important things to worry about.

*******

It was late into the night when the last patron left and Cloud and Aerith were able to shuffle upstairs and rest Squall against the soft mattress of a proper bed. Tifa had recruited a few tiny hands to help fill a bath, and Cloud had left Aerith to clean Squall and tend to his wounds properly. Cloud himself had been cornered by Tifa, who had noticed the drops of blood seeping from the creases of his leathers. She sat him down on a stool in her own rooms. “Take your shirt off, let me see it.” She told him sternly, sewing box already in hand. 

Cloud didn’t argue. Using up the last of his energy he unbuckled his leather guards and breast plate, and shrugged out of his ruined linen shirt. 

The wound was large and nasty, but it had stopped oozing bright red blood and was now congealed and clotted with dark red matter, the severed flesh curling at the edges. It would leave a nasty scar no matter what Tifa did. 

“Who is she?” Tifa asked, lowering herself to her knees. She raised Cloud’s arm up and rested his elbow on the top of her head, allowing her access to his wounded side. She placed the needle between her teeth and fiddled with the cotton reel to find the end of the thread. 

“Who?” Cloud asked a little distracted. 

“The woman you brought with you.” Tifa threaded the needle and wiped at the wound with a damp cloth, making Cloud jerk and hiss in unexpected pain. 

“Aerith?” Cloud grimaced as the needle made its first pass. “She helped me get Squall out of Avalanche. She’s a good friend.” He added.

“She must be, to risk her life in coming with you.”

Cloud was silent for a long time as he processed the guilt and the hurt of their hurried departure. It was never how he’d imagined leaving Avalanche: stealing away into the night like a murdering thief. He hated that he’d pulled Aerith down with him.

“She lost someone she loved,” he explained, “Didn’t have a reason to stay.”

Tifa stopped in her ministrations and glanced up at him with a quick swipe of her brow. They said no more to each other, and Tifa quickly finished sewing up the wound. When she had finished she stood and turned Cloud to face her. Dipping the cloth into a fresh bowl of water, she began to wipe away the blood and gore from his face, to reveal a tried and drawn complexion beneath. A prickly beard had begun to grow along his chin and upper lip, and the cloth rasped over the stubble as she slowly cleaned away the filth of their hurried escape.

“Why did you take him?” she asked, measuring the small ways Cloud’s face shifted with a knowing eye. Unsurprisingly, Cloud was silent for a long time, but eventually he answered.

“It wasn’t just about him.” he replied. “… a lot has happened. Things that can’t be undone.”

“What things?” she pressed, growing frustrated with her friends illusive answers.

“Rufus is dead,” Cloud let the news settle in the tense silence between them, before he added, “I killed him.”

Tifa let her hand fall to her lap, the moist cloth dampening her skirts as water trickled between her fingers. “You killed the Prince?” She watched as Cloud ducked his chin, shame clear in his tired blue eyes.

“He killed Zack. I had no other choice.” Cloud tried to explain, though the news was all so strange and unbelievable to Tifa. She had known from a young age that Cloud and Rufus had no love lost for each other, yet she had never dreamt their animosity would lead to murder. How Zack had been drawn into it, she had no idea, but she also knew the depth of friendship and brotherhood that the two men had shared, and she could not deny Cloud his revenge. If it had been her in Cloud’s place, and Cloud in Zack’s, would she not have done the same?

Cloud nodded firmly once, his eyes had glazed over with pain and cold anger. “Zack, he… I’d be dead if it weren’t for him.” Tifa could have sworn Cloud had meant to say something else, but had changed his mind at the last minute. She waited to see if he would reveal anything else, before she reached up and resumed her work. 

“Rufus killed him to get to you?” 

“No. The assassin was meant for me. It should have been me.” Cloud’s voice wavered slightly and Tifa’s heart clenched to hear it. There could be nothing she could say that would help that grievous wound, and if the truth was asked of her, she would not know what to say anyway. Cloud’s emotions had always been fiercely guarded and her lack of experience with them left her impotent. Instead her curiosity returned to the stolen prisoner, and she wondered again why Cloud had brought him here.

“So you’re running to Balamb. Are you hoping the Gaian will buy you favour there?”

“I’m returning him home.” Cloud shook his head, his tone distant and distracted. 

“I don’t understand. Why take-”

“I’m not asking you to understand.” Cloud responded quickly, interrupting her, the edge to his voice making Tifa pause in her work. “I just need your help.”

Tifa frowned down at the cloth in her hand and worked hard not to bite her lip in anger. After a moment, when the worst of the feeling had passed, she renewed her cleaning, her hand a little firmer. “You’re asking a lot, even for eighteen years of friendship.” 

Cloud was silent; his guilty expression conveying what his useless words could not. “I know. I’m sorry.” He finally said.

“You’ll leave tomorrow?” Tifa asked, setting the cloth aside, her work done for the night. Cloud nodded silently. “I’ll never see you again, will I?”

Cloud forced himself to meet her gaze, reading so much anger and sadness in her eyes that he felt his physical wounds all over again. “I don’t know.” He replied, not wanting to give voice to the fears he held deep in his own heart. 

Tifa stood quickly, hiding her face as she busied herself putting her things away. “You should go and help your friend. Dawn will be here in a few hours.”  
Cloud wanted to say more, to ease the hurt he knew his actions had caused, but the words wouldn’t come. In truth, there was nothing he could say to make up for the danger he’d put Tifa and her children in, the selfishness of his own need, so instead he simply stood and collected his things and returned to Aerith and Squall.

*******

He met Cid in the narrow corridor on his way back. The gruff, grizzly man caught his elbow as he passed digging his fingers in hard and he stopped Cloud in his tracks, bringing their noses to within touching distance. 

“You’re a damn fool for bringing him here.” The anger in Cid’s voice did little to hide the fear, and Cloud would have yanked his arm away, maybe even defended his own actions had he not been fighting with so much guilt and fear himself. 

“I had no other choice.” He said, watching as Cid begrudgingly let go of him and gave him his space.

“You’ll leave at first light, and not a minute after. Half of Midgar’s armies are camped on our fucking doorstep and you bring that damned thing into our home?” Cid hissed through his teeth, pointing down the shadowed corridor. He had reluctantly helped Aerith with her heavy load, lifting the unconscious Gaian when her arms could not, muttering dark threats and curses under his breath as he’d done so. He’d near enough collapsed of a busted ticker when Tifa had explained everything to him and instructed him to help. His enraged cries of protest falling on deaf ears, as usual, when the stubborn bar maid had simply thrust her hands on her hips and refused to be swayed on the matter. Tifa was a canny, stubborn wench, that was for sure, and Cid had never been able to talk her down from anything once her mind had been set to it. Though he tried his luck every time. Cloud was her weakness, and Cid cursed him now harder than he’d ever had reason to. It was a promise he’d made to Tifa’s father; a promise to look after her and the Seventh Heaven. To see no harm or danger come to either of them. Sometimes, the blasted woman made it harder than it needed to be. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll be gone as soon as it’s light.” Cloud was in no mood to argue.

Cid shook his head and left, muttering to himself, “Don’t worry, he says,” as he disappeared down the stairs.

Cloud slipped through into the small guest room as quietly as he could, his eyes falling on the pale figure in the bed and Aerith sat at his side. The young woman immediately stood, her gaze raking over Cloud’s bare chest to fix on the injury at his ribs and with a soft frown she braced her fists on her waist and scolded him with a look. 

“It’s nothing, Tifa has already seen to it. How is he?” Cloud dismissed her concern and shifted her attention. Throwing his leathers and ruined shirt down by the hearth, he joined Aerith by the bed and stretched out a hand to place against Squall’s forehead. He felt a little warmer, though his skin was still deathly pale, and he no longer shivered uncontrollably. He almost looked peaceful, but for the deep shadows under his eyes. 

“We got here just in time. Much longer out there and it would all have been in vain.”

Cloud absently brushed a few of Squall’s bangs back from his face with a delicate finger and breathed a shaky sigh of exhaustion. 

“Thank you,” he said turning to Aerith. “I couldn’t have done this without you. You’ve risked everything to help me.”

It was not what Aerith had been expecting him to say and his sudden sincerity left her speechless for a moment. 

“I risked nothing I wasn’t prepared to give.” She eventually said, dismayed to find herself so close to tears. Shame swept over her at the thought of how much she longed to follow Zack, and though it was an impulsive wish, brought on by grief and unimaginable anger, she could not deny the kernel of truth at the heart of it. She would not give up her life so carelessly; she was not so weak. But neither would she care if her own death came to find her. Not now, not after all that had happened. Her words seemed to provoke something in Cloud, and just as unexpected as his words were, he stepped forwards and drew her into a tight embrace. 

They parted quickly, Aerith ducking her head to hide her glowing cheeks.

“Tifa has a room for you, down the hall,” Cloud said, “I’ll stay with Squall tonight.”

They parted company with a soft goodnight and the moment the door closed Cloud let his shoulders droop and the soft smile slip from his lips. 

Too much sacrifice; too many lives in danger, he thought to himself as he splashed his face with cold water from the basin beside the bed. The chill was bracing but it did not clear the fatigue from his mind and he looked again towards the bed and the sleeping Gaian. Carefully, he nudged Squall forwards and slipped in behind him, pillowing him against his chest as Cloud settle against the headrest. The softness of the mattress was a relief to his aching muscles, and as he carefully rearranged the blankets around them both he felt the Gaian stir. 

“Shhh,” he tried to soothe, hoping he would slip back into peaceful sleep.

“Where are we?” Squall asked, his voice small and tight. 

Cloud lifted a hand and ran his fingers gently through Squall’s hair, resting his chin against his crown as he gazed out of the small sash window and peered into the darkness beyond.

“Nibelheim,” he whispered, the crackle of the fire snapping in the background, its heat and gentle light lulling Cloud’s eyes closed. “We’re nearly home.”

“I… I thought… it was a dream.” Squall croaked his own eyelashes fluttering over his sightless eyes. And although Cloud wished that much of what had come to pass had been a terrible nightmare, he smiled quietly to himself. 

“No, not a dream,” he murmured, reaching beneath the covers to lace his fingers with Squall’s. “Just hold on a little while longer. I promise you, you’ll see your family again.” Cloud felt the Gaian squeeze his fingers in response and his heart fluttered. He killed the feeling quickly, dousing it with cold and unforgiving reality and the certain knowledge of Squall’s inevitable death, and he privately raged within the quietness of his own mind. He would lose the only person who knew and accepted him for what he truly was, and the sorrow for what could have been between them was incomparable. Squall had called him a good man, and from the moment the words had left his lips Cloud had wanted to live up to them. To prove that Shinra’s blood did not run so deeply in his veins. Zack’s last words to him still echoed in his mind; they would haunt him for the rest of his life. “You're a coward, Cloud. That's why you never told me…” 

Yes, he was a coward. He could run to Balamb, even run to the ends of the world, but he would never outrun that truth. Zack had always known him better than he’d given him credit for. 

Forgive me, Zack… Cloud sent his prayer silently into the night as the last of his strength left him and he fell under the pall of sleep, his arms wrapped loosely around the slumbering Gaian, and the flames of the fire flickered lower until they guttered out just before the rising of the morning sun. 

*******

He was startled awake again a few hours later by a vivid dream. It had been more like memories, replaying over and over, altered here and there, warped by his exhausted mind into shapes and shadows of people that had no place in the events that had transpired. Aerith had died, and Cloud had killed Zack. Shinra had been the assassin, and old Merlin had been the Prince. Little Sora… Tifa’s own orphans… all of them dead in the tide of blood that had swept the land in his nightmares. 

Too many faces swam behind Cloud’s bruised eyelids and he reached up to scrub at his haggard face. 

Grey, insipid dawn light bled through the tiny sash window, and outside the sky was scudded with flurries of snow; the ominous shape of the mountains hanging like a shadow in mist.

The room was dark and edged with a chill, the cooling hearth giving out its last throws of warmth, and Cloud breathed deep to calm his racing heart.   
A sharp knock pulled the disgraced captain from his bed, and careful not to stir Squall too much, he pulled the heavy wooden door aside to reveal Tifa balancing a tray in her arms. 

“It’s nearly time; if you leave it too much longer, you’ll be seen leaving the town.” She said, handing over the food. Cloud nodded, his vision still blurred from his heavy sleep, and he blinked purposely to remove the mist from his vision. “I’ve been thinking,” Tifa said, placing a hand against the door to stop it from closing. “I’m going with you, at least over the mountains. I know those passes better than anyone, you need me to show you the way.” She added as Cloud opened his mouth to protest. 

“I can’t let you do that.” Cloud protested anyway.

“You can’t let me?” Tifa replied, almost amused. “When have you ever been able to stop me?”

“I’m serious, Tifa. Those mountains are dangerous.”

“Which is why you need me. I’m not discussing it. You owe me this much.” Tifa always did know the right things to say to twist Cloud’s arm. “Here, some warmer clothes for you and the boy. Aerith already has hers. Those mountain passes are deathly cold. You’ll need to leave the horses behind.” Tifa picked up a burlap sack from where it rested by her feet and handed it over.

“How long will it take us?” Cloud asked, setting the tray aside and taking the sack of warmer wools and furs. 

“Two days? Maybe two and a half. Depends on the snows. If it storms we may not make it at all. There’s a reason no one from Midgar uses the mountain routes; they’re treacherous.”

Cloud turned to look over his shoulder at the still sleeping Gaian and felt a knot turn hard in his throat. They had come through so much already, would Squall fail at the last? Regardless, Cloud would be bringing his body into Balamb, alive or not. He had a promise to keep. 

“We leave in an hour.” Tifa’s voice cut through his morbid thoughts.

Quietly and solemnly, Cloud closed the door and gave himself a few precious moments to doubt and fear in peace, before he woke Squall and coaxed him to eat what little he could.


	15. Chapter 15

It was strange to see Aerith in leggings. Both of them wore woollen layers beneath their boiled leather jerkins, everything lined and trimmed with pelts of fur; thick cloaks with deep hoods that hid their faces from biting, cutting winds. Cloud struggled to tease Squall’s lax fingers into rabbit skin gloves and relented when Aerith tutted and completed the task for him. 

She looked small and wiry, stripped of her billowing skirts. But skirts were no good where they were going and Cloud tried not to think of her slight frame succumbing to the freezing snow and ice that lay waiting for them. He tugged on his own thick woollen socks and hefty boots, standing with a wince to strap his dagger to his belted side. He would not be able to carry Tsurugi; Squall was taking the swords place at his back. He would be strapped with a cleaver contraption of blankets and ropes to leave Cloud’s hands free to climb. He handed the blade over to Aerith and helped her work the buckles. Stepping back, he took a moment to appreciate her there: short and fearsome, looking every inch a warrior maiden with her long braided hair and tough, jutting chin. Her strength shone through her eyes, undimmed by her grief as she stared back with a curious smile. 

“What?” she asked, cocking her head. 

“The sword suits you.” Cloud told her, admitting to a small smile himself. 

“It might suit me better if you’d teach me how to use it.”

“Maybe.” Cloud relented, unsure how he felt about the gentle woman learning how to use such a deadly weapon. 

They lapsed into silence and finished dressing the unconscious Gaian, Cloud mildly concerned that their pulling and tugging had not stirred him, and as they finished, a timely knock came at the door. Cid let himself in without waiting.

“Been told to come help,” he muttered darkly, clearly displeased. “Tifa says there’s liftin’ wants doing.” He didn’t bother to hide the look of distain as he glanced at Squall, and Cloud frowned.

“We’ll manage.” He said, stepping in front of Cid’s line of sight. “Maybe Tifa could use some help downstairs.”

Tension filled the silence as Cid stared at Cloud, almost about to reply with a curt rebuke, before he seemed to deflate and shook his head. With a huff and a string of mumbled curses, he left again. Cloud turned to see a displeased Aerith frowning at him. 

“He’s just worried about Tifa. You can’t blame him.” Aerith said, unfolding a skein of rope.

“I don’t blame him.” Cloud replied moodily. He reached down to heft Squall into a sitting position and then lifted him by the arms over his shoulder. Aerith helped, throwing a blanket over him as she arranged the folds and layers around the two figures and then began to tie the rope into intricate knots. 

“He talked a little last night, when he was helping me with Leon,” she said carefully, arranging Squall’s arms around Cloud’s waist. The Gaian was a dead weight against Cloud’s back, but the disgraced captain stood straight and strong, adjusting the head that lay limply against his shoulder with careful reverence. “Two children, about the same age as Sora perished within the space of a week not a fortnight ago. They hadn’t been here long, but they were so small and sick, Cid said they’d never stood a chance. Tifa spent two gold Gil on a physik to try and save them. It emptied her savings.” 

“Tifa’s a good woman,” Cloud replied after a while. “She always has been.”

Aerith eyed him studiously, her eyes boring into the back of his head as she chose her next words carefully. 

“I always knew life was hard up here in the mountains. You hear things working in the kitchens with the servants and the squires and the soldiers. But I never gave it more than a moment’s thought.” She shook her head, ashamed of herself. “People are dying, Cloud.” She turned him by the shoulder, now that Squall was safe and secure at his back. “People that Shinra should be protecting. This winter… everyone knows he’s the cause. And everyone knows he does nothing to stop it. Maybe he can’t, that doesn’t matter. What matters is he does nothing while his people die.”

“What are you getting at, Aerith?” Cloud said, unsure why she was bringing this up now. What could she hope he would do about it?

“Rufus is dead,” Aerith said, never one to beat around the bush. “Shinra has no more living heirs. No more, apart from you.”

Cloud’s eyes widened and he almost laughed. The sound bubbled up in his chest and lodged in his throat, chocking him. He swallowed several times to clear it and made a small scoffing sound.

“You’d better not be saying what I think you’re saying.” He warned, afraid he’d offend her if he gave into the temptation to howl with laughter. 

“Well, you could at least wipe that look off your face!” Aerith scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Aerith, a Strife has never succeeded the throne of Midgar. The idea is absurd. I can’t even inherit so much as a horse from my father and you want me to challenge him for the throne of an entire kingdom? You’re mad!” 

“Why am I?” she asked, raising that defiant chin again, hands on hips as she stared at him. “I’m not talking about you inheriting anything. I’m talking about you taking it from him. You’re Shinra’s only successor with even a drop of royal blood in your veins. It might not be your birth right, but no one could deny you’d have a valid claim.” Aerith refused to be swayed on the matter, holding his gaze with fierce determination. 

“Has it escaped your attention that we’re currently running away from Midgar? We’re fugitives, Aerith. Any right I might have had to the throne disappeared the moment I killed the true heir and kidnapped an enemy prisoner. Besides, what army could I hope to raise?” 

“The Fifth have always been loyal to you.” She argued, unwilling to let the matter drop even as Cloud shook his head and stepped past her. “They’d rally to you the moment you asked. And Angeal, he has always been a loyal friend and mentor. His Third army would-”

“Enough, Aerith!” Cloud interrupted her, raising his voice slightly. “What you’re asking is impossible. Besides,” Cloud’s tone mellowed, his gaze turning from sharp to hazed as he stared at her. “I’ve never wanted to wear a crown. You’re asking the wrong man.”

Aerith had so many more arguments to make, but she let them all go and lowered her arms to her sides. Perhaps now was not the right time, but of her convictions she was certain. Despite Cloud’s crippling self-doubt, long nurtured by Shinra’s cruel and malicious parentage, Aerith was certain Cloud would have made a just and honest King. If only he would believe in himself.

Cloud absently gripped at Squall’s hand, tied around his waist and wrapped in thick blankets, and he hoisted the weight against his back a little higher. “Tifa is waiting.” He said, putting an end to their discussion as he turned and led the way down into the tavern. 

*******

It had been many months since Sephiroth had last stepped foot inside Avalanche. Ever oppressive, its rising turrets fingered into the grey mists, looming like sleeping sentinels; high walls built strong and curved to withstand the battering sea winds long before the oceans had been pushed back. It was a fortress and a jewel, glinting in the crown of Shinra’s expanding kingdom, and Sephiroth had always hated it. He had borne its suffocating air with silent, dignified poise; ever respectful, ever obedient. Raised and honed for a single purpose, he had never strayed from his duty. He had remained loyal, despite the slow choke hold he felt himself slipping under. 

The loss of Angeal amplified it all. 

He stood upon the battlements, looking east out over the empty planes that had once been the sea bed, which were now covered in course heathers and tufts of scrubby grass. Far off in the distance the foaming edge of the ocean could be seen; a thin line of rolling white, as it fought against the magic that held it there, forever caught in a battle to claw its way back and finally crash along the natural coastline and envelope the rock upon which Avalanche stood. He had found this spot as a boy, always seeking solitude whenever he could, always in need of time to reflect and strengthen himself. Not even his lovers had followed him here. Angeal and Genesis had always known when to give him his peace. 

Sephiroth tightened his gloved fingers on the stone ramparts and let the sting of the wind take away the moisture in his eyes. He could not afford to grieve for Angeal here. Not at Avalanche, no matter how alone he might seem. Shinra’s spies were everywhere and the law was absolute. 

“Lord General, you’re a difficult man to track down.”

Sephiroth turned and recognised a man he knew well. His foster Lord approached, unbent and unrelenting against the savage winds as they whipped his long robes around his body, his hands clasped neatly into the folds of his sleeves, and his long white hair tied precisely at the nape of his neck. 

“Lord Ansem, I was taking a few moments alone to think. I return to the north shortly.”

“Yes, I heard the King had commanded you. When do you leave?”

“At first light. I have much to report to Lord Rhapsodos.”

Ansem came to stand beside the tall General and glanced up at his foster son with a raised brow. “You leave so soon, when matters here at Avalanche are so precarious?”

“Precarious, my Lord?”

“You are unaware of the King’s intent to inherit his bastard?” 

Sephiroth raised his own brow and loosened the tight knot at his jaw. It had always pained him to speak with his foster Lord, and it was only through years of honed skill that he was able to mask the depth of his discomfort. But Ansem was a useful person to be in the council of. He knew things, and had many little birds that brought him news. Sephiroth would have been a fool to cut himself off from such a resource, despite the crawling effect he had on his skin. 

“I was unaware, my Lord. But it does not seem like news to concern me, nor delay my return to Nibelheim.”

Ansem turned to fix the General with a hard and pointed stare. “I did not expect your command in the north to have dulled your wits so entirely, Sephiroth. I am disappointed.”

Sephiroth’s jaw tightened reflexively once again and he narrowed his eyes, though he did not turn to give his foster Lord the satisfaction of seeing either. “My Lord?” he questioned, his tone short and clipped. 

“King Shinra’s succession concerns us all. Many would feel aggrieved should they learn of his plans.”

“Lord Strife is a capable soldier and a brilliant tactician. There are many who would make a worse King than he.”

“You are being deliberately obtuse, Sephiroth. The law is clear: a bastard can never inherit the throne.”

“There is no law that says a King cannot do as he wishes,” the General replied, ignoring the insult, “Should Shinra officially adopt his son, Cloud would carry his name and he would no longer be a bastard, just as you did for me. Your concerns are redundant.”

“He killed the Prince and escaped with an enemy prisoner,” Ansem snapped, “Tell me, which of those concerns are the most redundant, Lord General?”

“We do not yet know the full details of those circumstances. Lord Strife may have had good reason to act as he did. If he acted at all.”

Ansem reached up and gripped Sephiroth’s arm and dug his fingers in tight. The act startled the General, and he broke his false revere of the landscape and glared down at the Baron. 

“This is no time to play the diplomatic soldier, Lord General. The King is poised to throw us all into bloody chaos, and he chooses a whelp of a bastard to succeed him. If Midgar is to go to war with Balamb – which it is – then it will take a force far greater than that bastard cockshite could possibly command. The heartless demand strength.” Ansem leaned in further, his fingers bruising the skin of Sephiroth’s arm. “I want what Balamb hides, Sephiroth. You speak of these political dealings as if they were none of your concern, but the fate of Midgar rests upon the edge of a sword.” Ansem loosened his grip but did not step back. “Have you forgotten your blood oath to me?”

Sephiroth tore his arm from Ansem’s grip, his lip turning upwards in a snarl.

“I have not forgotten,” he snapped. “But I will not disobey the King. Should he declare Lord Strife as his Royal son and heir, I will not contest it.” He turned to leave, the howling winds whipping his long silver hair about his face and he looked down at Ansem with fierce green eyes. “Find someone else to help you play your games, my Lord. I am nobody’s puppet.”

Ansem watched with a glowering stare as Sephiroth pushed past him, navigating the narrow ramparts with elegant ease, and with a single command he flexed the dark power within his mind and seized a hold of the General, his cry ringing out loud and thunderous above the lashing of the wind.

“Stop!”

Sephiroth felt himself halt. His footsteps faltered on the snowy granite and as if a hand had gripped at his shoulder, he felt a force push down on top of him, bending him until he could no longer resist it and he collapsed to his knees. His fists curled at his sides uselessly and he growled lowly in his throat unable to even move his head to watch as Ansem came to stand before him. He was as immoveable as stone, snapped taught under unimaginable pressure and he fought to free himself from the magic that bound him. 

“The north has dulled your mind considerably,” Ansem observed, his tone lazy and sardonic as he struggled to control his own enflamed temper. “Had I any idea your time here at Avalanche had tuned you into a simpering woman, I would have intervened sooner. You swore to me by blood, Sephiroth. You are nothing but my puppet.”

The power that froze his body entombed his voice, and Sephiroth could do nothing but stare vacantly up at the man who had raised him, his heart pounding wilding in his breast as he began to feel the dark edges of power creep into his mind. It felt like suffocating. As if he was being immersed in water, and as the powerful magic slowly engulfed him, Sephiroth’s eyes turned to the sky and watched as the dull grey, snow laden clouds darkened, and the world dimmed from sight. 

*******

Lazard sat curled into a freezing, pathetic ball within the darkness of his cell, his body shivering with uncontrolled spasms of pain and cold. His mind was torn, yet he could still clearly recall the vivid images that the dark magic had pulled forth: secrets and whispers, fears and doubts. He had divulged them all. Ansem had not been gentle with his interrogation and Lazard lay broken and twitching from the abuse of it. 

The Prince had been a paranoid and delusional man, Lazard had always known that. Yet even in his battered state he knew Rufus had been right to fear. Many shadows moved in the darkness and it was not only the bastard’s betrayal he now had to dread. Powers much stronger and darker lurked within Midgar’s underbelly and they had only just begun to touch Lazard’s mind. 

The steward coward at the sound of the cell being unlocked, the rusted metal hinges screeching as the heavy door was pulled back, and a shaft of weak torchlight spilled into the dark space. Two figures stood in the insipid cone of light, and Lazard squinted up through splayed fingers that covered his face and instantly he recognised the putrid feel of ominous magic. He pushed himself further back against the wall and cowered. 

“Your time here has come to an end, Steward.” Ansem spoke, his voice seeping like poison across Lazard’s shattered mind. “You are to return to Corel and organise the army of the Third. They will muster and rally to the Lord General in the north. 

“M…my Lord?” Lazard stuttered, a breath of fear lancing through his chest. Surely Ansem could not think to leave the west undefended? He lowered his hands from his face, the light still hurting his eyes yet he could now make out the flickering features of the Baron and the Lord General as they stood in the doorway. It had been many moons since he’d last seen Sephiroth, but even all that time should not have changed him so much. His eyes held a strange emptiness, the green of his irises enflamed to an unnatural brightness, and even in the dimness of the Bowels they appeared catlike and demonic. 

“The Five Armies are no more,” Ansem spoke, breaking Lazard’s revere. “Midgar’s army now moves as one, under General Sephiroth. Go, report to Tsung and see it done.”

Lazard did not hesitate. He scurried to his feet and slipped along the cell wall, stumbling from the prison as he followed the scent of fresh air up and out of the Bowels. He thought briefly of the treason he was about to commit, before he pushed it from his mind. He feared Ansem and his dark magic in his head far greater than he feared the wrath of his King. So he pushed on, not stopping to change his soiled and ragged robes and raced to the stables. He found his horse quickly, his torn and bleeding hands trembling as he saddled and tacked her, and with a fearful glance over his shoulder he led the mare out into the yard and mounted, disappearing into the night.

Still deep within the Bowels, Ansem turned to Sephiroth, the fetid stink of the cell wrinkling his nose and he flexed the power that held the General’s mind, watching as Sephiroth’s pupils contracted and his attention became sharp and deadly. 

“You will take the Fifth and the Home Guard and you will return to Nibelheim. There you will wait for my signal to invade Balamb. Do you understand?”  
Sephiroth nodded slowly, only once, and then left, leaving Ansem alone in the cell, surrounded by the stink and the traces of his sinister work. 

*******

Edea was deep in trance when the call of Ultimecia flittered through her mind. She surfaced from her waking meditation, the smell of incense and cloves wafting on the breeze, and she blinked against the speckled afternoon light that filtered through the gaps in the blanket that covered her door. 

'It is done. Timber joins our cause.' Ultimecia spoke softly in her mind, her Guardian’s presence no fainter for the distance she travelled. Edea had sent her north with a message and instruction to gather as many of the tribal leaders of Balamb as she could, and while the Guardian’s flight saved them days of travel over land, there were still many miles to cover.

'How fairs Rinoa?' Edea asked, a small measure of relief colouring her words. She’d been certain that the young Matron would answer her call, but even in these uncertain times, one could not be too overconfident. Ultimecia’s news eased Edea’s mind, if only a little. 

'She is well, and sends her good wishes. She looks forward to seeing you again.' Ultimecia replied. 

'That brings four tribes together, Edea mused. Ward of Galbadia, and Kiros of Esthar. Rinoa of Timber and our own tribe. We need more.'

'There are too few of us left.' Ultimecia said, a note of despair colouring her thoughts. 

'What of Xu?' Edea asked, even just the thought of asking for the woman’s help again paining her.

'After her losses in the borders skirmishes, I’m unsure if she would be willing to help us. Do you still wish me to ask? Dollet is not so far away.'

'We must have all the help we can gather. But I will understand if she says no.' Edea said. Her thoughts were broken as the blanket at her door was disturbed and Ellone stood hovering on the threshold. 

“Matron, you called for me?” she asked, her head bent in reverence. 

“Come in, child.” Edea beckoned, Ultimecia’s presence melting from her mind as the bird took flight and continued on its journey. “I have been meaning to talk with you lately. Are you well?”

“Yes, Matron.” Ellone replied sullenly as she picked a spot by the fire and folded her legs underneath her. Her usually bright features were dull and turned downwards, the strain of her grief obvious even without a Gaian’s powers of perception, and Edea’s heart twisted to see it. It had been many months since Squall’s disappearance and Griever’s burning, and there would be many more months of sadness for Ellone. Edea could not resent her those emotions. Yet her soul ached to see her adopted child happy again. 

“I have had a vision,” Edea began, careful to control the momentary leap of hope in her heart, in case Ellone’s astute senses should feel it. “It called to me of your future.”

“My future?” Ellone replied, brows knitted in interest. 

“Your birth was no accident, my child. Have you not been told this before?”

“Yes, but I…” Ellone hesitated, unsure what her prophetic birth could mean now that her twin brother was gone. “I thought perhaps that future was lost.”

Edea shook her head, the beads and trinkets in her braided hair tinkling with the motion. “Your future is as certain as it ever was.”

The fire snapped and crackled between them, the silence filling the void of unspoken thoughts as Edea let her words settle in Ellone’s mind.

“What vision have you had, Matron?” Ellone eventually asked, her curious eyes burning across the fire. 

“When you sleep, what do you dream of, child?” Edea asked, canting her head to the side as her soft voice floated across the dimness.

“I dream of many things. Strange images and places I’ve never seen. People I know only when I sleep but have never met in my waking life.” Ellone said, trusting her Matron despite the curiosity that silently begged her to reveal her destiny. 

“These are no dreams you walk in, child. They are memories.” Edea said.

“Memories?” Ellone was incredulous, her heart beginning to beat stiffly within her chest. “I have never seen these places before, how can they be my memories?”

“Not your own, but others.” Edea said, her violet eyes glowing with ancient knowledge. “You hold within you the power to see memories. To manipulate and change them as you wish. It is a rare gift, one that I have never seen bestowed upon our people before.”

“Why would the Lifestream give me this gift?” Ellone was breathless.

“That part of your future still remains unclear. The Lifestream has many secrets and we may not know them all. But it is certain that you are meant to have this power, and that it is of great importance to your time here on this earth.”

“I don’t understand. How am I to use it, what good can I do with it?”

“There are a many good things you could use this gift for, though not all will be obvious to you yet. Do not trouble yourself with questions of goodness, Ellone. Trust that you will know when to use your gift, and when you should not. For now, concentrate only on learning how to use it. Your dreams suggest your power is untamed, unfocused. It will take time to wield it properly.”

Ellone was silent. Her face an unreadable shifting storm of emotions and they brushed Edea’s senses like falling snow flakes. They shifted and flurried, carried on the winds of her thoughts, never settling, and always in constant motion; a frantic storm of wonder and guilt and terror. 

“What if I do not want it?” she finally breathed, a spark of defiance lighting her gaze. She had never been a insolent child, yet the loss of her brother had changed her in many ways. Anger festered beneath her quiet grief and Edea felt the undercurrent of her hurt ripple far outward. The burden her destiny placed upon her shoulders was weighty, and Edea could not blame her for her rebelliousness. 

“That choice is no longer yours to make.” If indeed it ever was, Edea finished in her mind. And although her tone was soft and gentle and her eyes were kind, she could not hold back the edge of warning in her words. It was unwise to reject a gift from the Lifestream. Powers far greater than the gift of memory or foresight worked for both ill and good within the world. Ellone was just a tiny thread in its tightly woven fabric. Only her youth prevented her from seeing that. “Go, Ellone. We will talk again when your mind is calmer.”

The young Gaian looked as if she meant to protest, her mouth opening in a sharp retort, before she seemed to reconsider, and with a defeated, frustrated sigh, she rose to her feet and left. 

'She is troubled greatly by Squall’s death.' Ultimecia spoke in her thoughts, never far away from Edea’s mind.

'Yes, but Squall did not die.' Edea reminded her Guardian.

'Perhaps not. But he has been a prisoner for many months and he has been severed from his Guardian. What state do you hope he will return in? Some might say it would be better if he’d died.'

'He has survived for a reason. We must trust in that.' Edea replied, her tone sharp at her Guardian’s unkind words, despite how true they might have been. 

'Nevertheless, should Squall return, you cannot hope that he will restore Ellone’s happiness. He is likely changed forever.'

'You’re right,' Edea whispered, suddenly full of melancholy and doubt. 'But let me cling to hope, while I still can.'

*******

Somewhere, high up and deep within the razor sharp rocks of the mountains, Tifa and Aerith huddled beneath a shallow outcropping. The jagged, windblown cliff face offered just enough shelter to light a fire and fend off the worst of the cold, and the snow outside their semi cave had grown to almost thigh deep. Tifa knew it could build to neck height should a storm blow strong enough, and for the first time in a day and a half she let a small inkling of hope grow in her heart. They might make it across, if their luck continued to hold out.

She watched as Aerith built up the fire, her gaze never traveling far from the unconscious Gaian who was laid out at the back of the overhang, and she considered the woman who had so far remained largely silent. 

Aerith was tougher than she’d given her credit for, that was for certain, and Tifa had been impressed with how well she had kept up with their swift climbing. Her grim face had been all the complaining she’d done about the bitter cold and she’d never once voiced displeasure at her hungry belly. It was more than Tifa had expected of a kitchen maid. 

“Cloud told me about how you helped him escape.” Tifa spoke suddenly, watching from her peripheral vision as Aerith looked up from tending to the Gaian. Tifa was adjusting the tension on her bow. The cold made the horse hair taught and brittle and if neglected it would be liable to snap when she needed it most. Her fingers were clumsy and stiff with the cold and she turned a little further into the cave and closer to the fire. 

Aerith was silent for a long time and Tifa was unsure if she’d answer or not, before she gave a little sigh and sat back on her heels. 

“I didn’t plan it,” Aerith began, her voice small and her face half hidden by the tangle of her hair. “It just sort of… happened that way.”

Tifa looked up from her work, studying the woman carefully beneath her fringe, watching the tender way her hand brushed the Gaian’s cheek. 

“Cloud said that you lost someone. Someone that you loved.” The way her words made the woman flinch told Tifa all she needed to know and she immediately regretted her careless words. It took a while before Aerith seemed in control of herself again and Tifa breathed a sigh of relief when she spoke. 

“There didn’t seem much point in staying. Life at Avalanche was hard, but it was bearable because of Zack.” Aerith looked up for the first time, a light smile curving her lips yet the seam of tears on her lashed tinged it with sadness. “Zack and Cloud,” she half laughed, a tear rolling free down her cheek as she indulged in the memories. “They were the only reason I stayed so long. When Cloud told me what he’d done… that he was leaving. I couldn’t bear the thought of staying there alone.”

Tifa nodded, her fingers idling in their work as she thought on Aerith’s words and slowly, the woman’s place in Cloud’s life began to make sense. 

“You must have loved him a great deal. To have stayed somewhere like Avalanche for so long.” She gave Aerith an understanding smile and waited while the woman attempted to dry her tears. Aerith sniffed, scrubbing at her tired face and returned Tifa’s gentle smile.

“Well, he was easy to love.” She explained inwardly cringing. Would she ever get used to talking about him like that: in the past, long gone, and reduced to a memory? 

Her soft smile fell and fear ignited in her eyes as she looked past Tifa to the mouth of the overhang. Silhouetted against the grey clouds loomed a massive black shape. The creature rose up on its hind legs, spidery, claw-like arms testing and scenting the air as it clicked its fangs, and before Aerith could even open her mouth to scream, Tifa had registered the shock on her face and rolled away almost as quickly as the creature struck. 

Aerith did scream then. Her cry rang out around the small cave and she leapt to her feet, watching as Tifa rolled and came to rest on her hunches, her bow knocked from her hands as she shook her head and stared up at the beast that blocked their escape. 

“A Frozen Nail!” Tifa called, standing quickly and looking about her feet for any kind of weapon. There was nothing save for her unstrung bow that lay close to the Nail’s feet. It was too close to lunge and make a grab for it, and there would be little time to restring it and find an arrow to loose. She turned to Aerith who was stood over the Gaian, eyes wide and face pale with fright.

“Aerith, the sword!” Tifa cried, pulling the woman from her frozen stance. 

As if the beast sensed her intentions it lunged for the two women, forcing Tifa to roll to the right again to escape its snapping jaws, its large mandibles clicking and antenna bend backwards in the small cramped space. 

Aerith screamed again and Tifa shot to her feet. The Nail was in between them now, pinning Aerith against the back of the cave and fear lanced through Tifa, her heart hammering in her chest as she felt adrenaline surge through her limbs. She itched for a weapon and she hesitated for a second, before Aerith’s terrified cry urged her forwards without thinking and she ran leaping onto the beast’s back, landing with an inelegant thud against its hard shell.

The Nail screamed and hissed in rage, immediately beginning to buck and shudder wildly. Tifa hung on, digging her knee into the middle section of its thorax and she reached up and yanked hard on its thrashing antenna, pulling the beasts jaws up and away from Aerith. 

“The sword,” Tifa called again, teeth gritted against the incredible strength of the animal. “Aerith, grab the sword. Aim for its belly!” She planted a foot deep into the snowy rock and yanked hard, kicking up snow and cinders from the fire, bending the creature back against her knee and tried to expose as much of its soft underside as she could. She watched through the smoke and soot of the scattered fire as Aerith scrabbled for Cloud’s sword and yanked it free of its scabbard. 

The metal sang above the terrible screeching of the beast, and with a grimace Aerith swung the blade, its edge just nicking the tender flesh of the Nail’s throat. 

“Again, quickly!” Tifa cried, the ash and the sparks from the fire stinging her eyes and the smoke choked her throat. She would not be able to hold on for much longer. 

Aerith raised the blade again swinging wildly left and right, pulling her lunges back as her hand got too close to the Nail’s snapping jaws. She planted her foot back, her heel hitting something solid and she glanced down to see Leon, unconscious and unprotected.

If she failed, he would die. 

The thought drove a spear of fright through her, and as she turned back to the clacking, hissing beast, she raised the sword and gripped it in both of her trembling hands. With a cry of fear and anger, she drove the blade through the snapping pincers, and trust downwards.

There was a terrible screech and a stink of rotting fish as an inky black substance poured from the animal. It shuddered and trembled where it writhed and then dropped to its belly, its long limbs flailing helplessly on the ground as it struggled to right itself upon its feet. Aerith pulled the blade free and watched as Tifa clambered from off its back, her feet slipping in the horrid mess, and with a final cry she raised the sword above her head and brought it down across the animal’s back, splitting the shell in two.

The Frozen Nail died and with a winded groan, Aerith collapsed, letting go of the sword that was lodged in the animal’s thick shell, and she sank to her knees, breathing hard. 

Tifa collapsed next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder and shook her hard.

“Are you alright?” She gasped, her eyes darting everywhere in search of injury. 

Aerith wasn’t so sure that she was. She stared open mouthed and gasping at the slain beast and she attempted to nod her head but instead all that came out of her was a short sharp bark of laughter. 

The sound startled Tifa, who stopped her ministrations and stared hard at the woman. When the sound came again and it was obvious that the woman was unhurt, Tifa let her own fear and worry melt away, the surplus energy melting into hysterical laughter along with Aerith. 

The two women snorted uncontrollably, clutching tightly to each other’s hand as they used up the last of their terror, and were startled out of their hysterics by the shadow of a man falling over the mouth of the overhang.

“What happened?” Cloud asked, two dead conies dangling from his shoulder as he stood in shock at the carnage before him. 

Tifa sniffed and wiped at her tear stained cheeks. Standing on wobbly legs, she stepped over the Nail and ripped the sword from its shattered shell.

“Oh, nothing we couldn’t handle.” She said as she passed the sword to Cloud who accepted it dumbly with a wide stare. 

Aerith had gathered enough of her wits to calm herself, and with a shaky breath she stood and stared down at the mess and destruction the beast had caused. The fire would have to be built up again and the carcass removed, but none of them were hurt and that was a Holy miracle.

“Can we eat it?” she asked, curious, knocking her boot against one of its mandibles. 

“I wouldn’t. It tastes as bad as it smells and you’ll be puking your guts up till you wished you were dead. Best to throw it down the mountain.” Tifa replied, already setting about dragging the hind quarter out of the cave. “Cloud, make yourself useful and help me with this thing will you?” 

Cloud shook himself and closed his mouth. He quickly dropped the conies and placed the sword against the wall and set to work helping Tifa drag the dead beast from the cave.


	16. Chapter 16

“And what of the disturbance in Nibelheim?” Genesis signed the order with a flourish of his quill and sat back in his chair, the wood creaking with the cold and his weight. A brazier burned behind him, setting his elegant features into darkness and haloing his fiery red hair with a soft glow. 

“A dispute over a betting game. The innkeeper was compensated and the soldiers reprimanded. Only some slight damage to furniture. Nothing overly serious.” Kunsel reported, rolling the parchment up and retying it with a leather thong. Genesis nodded. 

“The men grow restless.” He noted, tapping the tips of his fingers against his lips. “It may be prudent to limit their free time spent in Nibelheim. We cannot afford to anger the townsfolk.”

“With all due respect, captain, I feel it would be unwise to constrain the men to camp. If they grow restless enough, it may be our own ranks they start destroying.”

“A fair point, Lieutenant. But we do not know how much longer the King intends us to be stationed here. We need the townspeople on our side. They support us, so long as we are useful to them. Our coin will only carry us favour for so long. Increase the punishment for disturbance of the peace to three nights in the stocks and a months docked wages. Let us see them try to cause drunken mayhem without the gill to pay for it.”

Kunsel inclined his head and saluted curtly, waiting for the flippant wave of the captain’s hand to dismiss him. Once Genesis was alone he sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He missed Sephiroth. With the General gone the paltry day to day running of an army at camp fell to him and he was not so ashamed to admit that it was an annoyance. Lord Rhapsodos was a man of action. Nothing irritated him more than bureaucracy. Sephiroth had always been better at it than he anyway. The Lord General’s presence alone seemed to control the men’s fraying tempers better than any punishment ever did. It was a quality Genesis admired greatly. 

Two full moons had come to pass since the Second and the First had made camp at Nibelheim and the waiting –hovering on the edge of a war that was all but certain – frayed Lord Rhapsodos’ normally well-ordered thoughts. The pieces were set; Midgar had been ready to invade Balamb for almost a year. Only the mountains had held back the inevitable tide of Shinra’s empire. And now, with a Gaian captured and successfully crippled, a way over the impassable mountains could be found. Genesis had been certain the order would come through only weeks after the wild creature’s discovery, yet still they lingered on the edge of the world, fears and anger growing like the charge before a storm; the air fairly crackled with the tension. 

Genesis closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the chair. It was at times like this that he missed Sephiroth’s cool fingertips at his temples and the feint trace of his lips against his ear. The sensation of his lover stood behind him – firm hand’s working knots from his shoulders – was so sharp, that Genesis almost missed the hiss of steel that whispered in the shadows, and suddenly, the feeling of someone stood behind him was no longer a figment of his imagination. 

Genesis moved his body with lightning speed and missed the swing of the blade aimed for his exposed throat. The edge had been so close he felt the rush of air move against his neck. Quickly he swirled, his long leather coat billowing behind him as he pulled his sword from its sheath, aiming it at the shadow that had emerged from the darkness. 

“Very impressive.” The woman spoke slowly, a half smile bending her thin lips upwards. “They normally don’t even hear me coming.”

Genesis did not respond. He looked her up and down, immediately judging the weight of her, her build and the small details that gave away her intentions. There weren’t many, but Genesis only needed one. He watched as she circled the chair he had been sitting in, dragging the small, thin needle-like blade along the arm, scoring the grain. She held the grip lightly, her finger’s barely clenched around the hilt, and with a small flick of her wrist, she flicked the dagger over and held it by the blade, smiling at him. 

“Do you like it?” she asked, offering it to him with mock delight. “It is quite special. Captain Hewley was quite taken with it, too.”

The strange woman’s words caught Genesis’ attention, and his eyes flicked up from the weapon to pierce her with a deadly stare, her own gaze dancing with delight as she saw she finally had his full attention. “He wasn’t as quick as you, but then again,” the woman stopped, the long table between them as she flicked the blade over again and held it by the hilt, her grip delicate. “He was quite old.”

Genesis felt his stomach tighten and bile rise in his throat. The back of his tongue became metallic and as he clenched his jaw to rid himself of the sour taste, the woman’s smile widened. Perhaps it was the flicker in her eye or the way her weight shifted onto her back foot, but the moment she ducked and rolled, throwing herself under the table, Genesis jumped away, pulling one of the high-backed chairs down on top of her to block her path. She kicked it away easily, sending it spinning out to where Genesis had danced to give himself space, the wooden struts of its legs tangling up in the point of his sword, rending it useless as he struggled for distance in the cramped tent. 

She jumped to her feet gracefully, kicking her leg out to tip the chair back towards her. It caught the captain’s sword as it did, ripping it from his grip, and with a soft curse Genesis quickly darted to the right, pulling a shorter dagger from his belt. He’d lose his reach, but the woman would have to get in close now to land a blow and she’d lost her edge of surprise. Genesis was taller and stronger. If it came to a hand to hand fight, he was confident in his abilities. All he had to do was stay out of the way of that needle. 

She lunged again, twisting quickly in a tight pirouette, her arms a blur of motion as Genesis lost sight of them and jumped back, ducking his body reflexively when he felt the woman's blade shear too close. She’d caught his coat. The material flapped in the breeze, a gaping hole where his unprotected side had been only moments before, and Genesis felt the sharp spike of adrenaline as he realised she had almost nicked him.

He danced away around the table, the woman following him like a mad dervish, always a second quicker, forcing the captain back and back until he felt the heat of the brazier behind him. She had him cornered against its flames, and as she spun one last time, dropping her body to kick his legs out from under him, Genesis reached back and gripped the side of the searing metal bowl the fire sat in. It scorched his hand through the leather of his glove almost instantly and he gritted his teeth against the scream of pain that wanted to tear from his throat. With a course grunt he yanked hard on the brazier, toppling the hot coals and firewood down on to the woman.

She did not see until it was too late. Sparks flew upwards and the air was immediately thick with smoke and soot and her sudden hellish scream. She lost her balance, falling out of her crouch to cover her head that was already smouldering with orange sparks, her hair beginning to singe as the smell of scorched flesh filled the air.

Cupping his burnt hand to his chest, Genesis kicked his foot out catching her under her chin and he sent her sprawling onto her back, blood in her mouth and smoke in her nostrils as she lay there choking. He fell on top of her, knee crashing into her stomach and winding her further before he plunged the short dagger into her kidney. It was a killing blow, but it would be slow.

"Who sent you?" He rasped, forgetting about the pain in his hand as he gripped her throat and shook her hard.

The desperate light in her eyes was dancing feverishly. He mouth and throat worked hard to draw in air, teeth covered in blood, the skin on the left side of her face scorched and blistered from the fire. She was grinning; a desperate sort of manic smile, and from the corner of his eye Genesis saw too late the needle-blade she drove into his shoulder.

Her reach was too short. She'd been aiming for his neck Genesis had no doubt. He roared in pain, letting go of her around the throat and he almost toppled from his crouch.

There was commotion around him then, the tent suddenly filled with men and swords and a snarling, barking hound as his guards circled the captain and his would-be assassin. Where the hell had they been a few moments ago when he'd really needed them? The thought an idle snarl in the back of his mind as Genesis righted himself with a snarl of pain. Reaching up, he yanked the blade from his shoulder, feeling the barely there weight of it in his palm, the hilt and blade smeared and tacky with his blood, before he gripped it tightly and held it against her throat.

"Who sent you, what did you do to Angeal?" He roared, picking her up by the collar of her jerkin and smashing her back down against the frozen ground. "Answer me!"

The woman laughed. The sound came from her like the broken cackle of a demented hag, her bloodied teeth flashing in the dying embers of the scattered fire, bubbles of blood rising and popping from her nose as she chocked, but she did not answer him.

"Where is Angeal?!" The desperation in Genesis' tone was dangerous. It would have been too revealing had the circumstances been different.

The woman tilted her chin, her eyes losing their madness as they narrowed in on the captain and her trembling lips moved. Her voice was thick with wet blood and she cocked and coughed, spattering her face with small droplets. Gasping, she drew in a shallow breath and pushed out her reply.

"Dead." She was grinning again, the smirk on her lips a badge of honour, a trophy she wore in her dying moments as she mocked the captain who knelt and stared at her, a pain far greater than the wounds of his flesh bursting into life within his chest.

"You killed him?" He almost sobbed.

That broken, maniacal chuckle filled the silence.

Genesis roared. His cry of anger and fury short and savage as he tore the woman's knife away from her throat and drove it through her smirking, mocking face and buried it to the hilt within her eye socket.

She went still. Her laughter stopped. Genesis tumbled backwards, scrabbling to his feet as his men reached down to help him up, their words falling over him in muted tones and all Genesis could hear was a soft ringing that felt like it would never end. He stared down at the wretched woman, his trance only broken at the fresh wave of pain that broke over him as Kunsel placed a hand to his wounded shoulder.

"My Lord, what happened?"

Genesis' lips curled in a snarl but no sound came out. His eyes burned and his nose was filled with the stench of blood and burnt flesh, and in his mind the woman's reply echoed again and again. Dead... Angeal was dead.

"Send riders out to Corel and Avalanche. Find The Lord General. His life is in danger." He snapped, ripping his arm from Kunsel's hold. Knowing his lieutenant would do everything he asked without question, Genesis stormed from the tent, his ruined, slashed coat billowing behind him as he went in search of a healer and a strong drink.

*******

A thick fog had descended over them as they’d slept and by mid-afternoon it had not lifted. White snow reflected grey cloud, and only the smoggy outline of three bodies could be seen slowly picking their way across the jagged slopes. 

Cloud felt the stilted brush of a half moan escape the Gaian as it brushed his neck and he reached down to grasp at Squall’s hand, the gentle squeeze a silent command for the young man to grip back and let him know he was alright. When it did not come, Cloud arched his neck and could only see the tangled mop of grubby, dirty hair poking over his shoulder. 

“We need to stop.” He called out, the two women in front of him halting in their trekking at the note of worry in his voice. Aerith doubled back quickly, adjusting the long sword across her shoulder as she pulled her satchel around in front of her. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, peeling some of the layers away from Squall’s face.

“He’s not responding,” Cloud replied quickly, untying the ropes from around his waist and shoulders. Carefully he dropped the body to the ground and turned on his knees.

“He’s not woken up properly in nearly two days. I don’t know how much longer he will last.” Aerith told him grimly, quietly, looking over his shoulder as Tifa approached. 

Cloud bit his lip and frowned deeply. “How much further until we cross the border?” he asked Tifa as she came to stand at his shoulder. 

“We crossed it this morning just before dawn. We’ve been descending for hours; the fog makes it difficult to judge.” Tifa told him letting the heavy pack fall from her shoulders. “Look,” she said, tapping him on the head and pointed out west. Cloud stood and scanned the impossibly blank sky. Nothing moved in the rolling mists but shades of white and grey. He squinted harder, and in the middle distance, like sunlight peeking through curtains, he could make out the darker shapes of bare rock unblemished by snow. In front of it, like waves on a gravel beach, the snowline broke, marking the end of a winter that had lasted for years longer than Cloud could remember. 

“They call these the Trabia Mountains. We’ll make the foothills by sundown. If we keep moving.” Tifa added.

Cloud stared wide eyed at the slowly disappearing snowline as it melted back into the thick curtain of fog. “We’re really in Balamb?” he asked. Tifa nodded beside him. Resolutely, and with his lips turned down into a grim line of determination, he turned back to see Aerith trying to coax Squall to drink. The young woman looked up at him forlornly and shook her head. 

“We need to keep moving.” He told her, collecting Squall into a bundle against his chest. “We’re nearly there.” He murmured quietly, hoping that somehow his words filtered through to his damaged mind. “Please,” he whispered, bending closer, “Just hold on.”

Squall did not respond. His face was still pale and drawn, almost translucent in places where the skin had been pulled tight over sharp bone, and his breath still came in slow and shallow, stilted gasps. Cloud gave Aerith a knowing, mournful look and she stared back, her gaze full of understanding and sadness. She helped him settle Squall against his back again, tying the ropes with weary fingers, and with grim faces they set off down the gentling slopes towards the grey rock and shale, and gradually left the snows of Midgar and the North Mountains behind. 

*******

The morning had been dull and grey, but slowly the clouds had lifted and were now parting as the day’s end approached, letting through shafts of golden sunlight to warm the woods. Insects buzzed and the quietness and tranquillity of the forest was only broken by the soft and contented woof of a dog as it echoed lazily upwards. Kairi peered down from the high branches of the tree she was sat in, spotting Nobody prowling around the trunk sniffing industriously at her scent. 

'Namine is back,' she spoke glancing to the small mouse on her shoulder. Her Guardian ceased the cleaning of its whiskers and ventured a look of her own.

'Perhaps she has something to report?' Heart suggested, quickly scurrying to the small breast pocket in Kairi’s jerkin. 

Kairi scrambled down quickly, the tips of her bare toes hardly touching the branches as she descended and she landed with elegant ease on the soft dewy grass. Nobody barked in greeting, the blood hound sitting on one cocked hip as he lifted his snout to the gentle breeze and glanced away into the undergrowth. Moments later, a familiar figure emerged.

“Someone’s coming!” Namine breathed excitedly, clearly out of breath from her quick dash down from the foothills. They were camped not far from them, the tall oaks and elms giving the perfect vantage point over the Trabia Mountains and the High Pass.

“About time!” Kairi replied stretching her arms above her head. The balance of the woodland was good here; there was only so much nurturing she could do to pass the time while they waited. “Did you see him?” 

“There were three of them. I couldn’t quite see far enough to make out faces, but it’s got to be him. Matron said so!” Namine reached down to scratch at Nobody’s ears. 'Time to send for Selphie. Tell Ragnarok to fly for Winhill.' She told him. “Come on, if we run back to the foothills, we’ll catch them in time before they get lost in the forest.” She gripped a hold of Kairi’s hand and they broke into a run, crashing back through the undergrowth and thick foliage along the hidden trails and left Nobody to his private mission. 

It was a fair run, mostly uphill as the dense trees became sparser and opened out into wider thickets of softly waving grasses. Finally, where the treeline broke their cover and the edge of the glades met the tumbling rock of the mountains, they stood and watched three figures descend the last gently sloping hills from the shade of a blossoming crab-apple tree. As they drew closer, Kairi could see that one of them – with hair as bright as corn grass – carried something on his back. The other two were women, and with a frown of concentration she waited to see what Namine would do. 

“Shall we go to them?” she asked when her friend had been silent for too long.

“Do you think that we should? Won’t we frighten them? Besides, I don’t see Squall.”

“That one looks like he’s carrying something. Look you can see its legs.” Kairi pointed and Namine squinted harder. 

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” Namine shrugged, pulling her bow from her shoulder. Young though she may have been, she was no fool. No one ventured out to greet strangers from Midgar without a little reassurance. They let the travellers draw closer, until they were barely twenty paces ahead of them, and then as casually as if she had stepped out of her own front door, Namine emerged from the cover of the trees. 

“Halt.” She commanded, her light voice carrying over the quiet dusk. She lifted her bow, arrow notched and with no real tension in the string, and watched as the three figures skidded to a stop. The short one with dark hair lifted her own bow, her gaze hesitant and reluctant to aim the weapon at a child, yet the woman behind her – the one with long brown, tangled hair – reached eagerly to the hilt of a sword strapped firmly to her back, her grip hard and ready. “What are you doing here?”

The three strangers looked at her, their stares uncomprehending and confused. Namine tried again, her words slow and deliberate. “State your business.”

“Maybe they don’t understand us?” Kairi whispered in her ear, her own dagger drawn just for effect. 

“I don’t know any Midgarian,” Namine replied, glancing over her shoulder with a troubled frown. “Do you?”

Kairi shook her head. “Maybe a cuss word or two.”

Namine rolled her eyes and sighed and then focused back in on the problem before them. The one with the golden hair had moved, his hands raised in what appeared to be calming supplication as he stared at the two young girls with wide blue eyes. He spoke, his words sounding strange and harsh in the airy atmosphere of the woods and Namine wrinkled her nose in displeasure. 

“If that’s the way they all sound I don’t think I’ll bother learning.” Kairi said. 

“How do we find out if Squall is with them?” Namine replied urgently, the sharp and ecstatic hope that had blossomed in her heart at the strangers sighting fast dwindling. The strange man spoke again, more harsh gibberish that came out in course sounding vowels and as he reached up to his waist Namine raised her lax bow and tightened the notch of her arrow. 

The man stopped, raising his palms again, and on closer inspection, Namine could see no weapons at his belt, only crisscrossed ropes tied in many complicated knots. She jutted her chin, signalling for him to continue, her prudently aimed arrow a warning to go slowly. 

Gradually, the man untied the knots, sinking to his knee as he grasped at a hand that suddenly fell from the folds of a beaten and weathered blanket, and with a soft gasp of surprise, Namine carefully lowered her bow, and watched with wide, disbelieving eyes as the body of a boy was laid out on the grass at the stranger’s feet. 

The boy was pale and sickly, far too skinny and bruised and deathly looking to still be alive, yet Namine could plainly see his fragile chest fluttering with shallow breath. And as she looked harder, though it was almost impossible to believe, the shape of his face became familiar and all at once it dawned on her that she was looking upon Squall; battered and beaten and tortured though he was, and Namine felt the breath in her lungs steal away and a tight knot in her throat almost choke her. 

Letting the bow fall from her fingers, she moistened her dry lips with a swift swipe of her tongue and looked back up into the stranger’s eyes. 

“S… Squall…” She breathed, the sound coming out of her like a whisper.

The strange man nodded his head, a careful wariness in his eyes as he watched her reaction closely, and from behind him, in stilted and broken Gaian, the woman with the sword spoke up.

“We… brought… him home.”

Namine’s feet moved without her willpower and she approached in a staggering sort of shuffle. Kairi’s quiet gasp of caution barely registered as she padded softly to where Squall lay, unconcerned that the corn-haired man had not moved away. Slowly she lowered herself to her knees and reached out a hand, placing it against Squall’s pale, cold cheek, the feel of his skin beneath her palm real and tangible and in that moment of contact she felt the welling of months of doubt and fear and grief come spilling from her eyes in large tears of gladness.

“Squall,” she said again, the name almost a sound of rejoicing as she gathered him up by the shoulders and rested him against her lap. He did not stir and his limbs remained lax and unresponsive, and then through the elation of his return the seriousness of his condition became obvious. “He’s sick?” she asked, looking up through blurry eyes at the travellers, remembering the news of Griever’s burning. 

The woman with the sword, who had moved next to the man and knelt down, nodded her head, placing the back of her fingers gently to Squall’s cheek. “Very sick.” She replied, her words not coming out quite right though Namine understood them well enough. 

The young girl looked about herself forlornly, collecting her scattered thoughts as she looked over her shoulder and stared pleadingly at Kairi.

“We need to get him back to Matron, quickly!”

“It’s another two days run,” Kairi shook her head, calculating the miles and the terrain. “Even if Ragnarok reaches Winhill this evening, and Matron sends out runners…” she let her words drift off into the waning light.

Namine grit her teeth and pushed back the fresh flood of tears that wanted to break through her crumbling resolve. “We’ll rest until midnight, then start back,” She turned to Squall and gently brushed the shorn hair from around his face. It had been long and wild the last time she had seen him and the change in him was so severe it broke her heart. “And hope that Matron sends us help.” She looked up into the faces of the strangers who had brought him here, over the mountains, risking their lives and leaving their homes to accomplish it, and wished she could ask them what had happened. She was so desperate to know everything yet that part would have to wait. 

“We stay here.” Namine said, as simply and clearly as she could, hoping the woman’s understanding was better than just a few rough cuss words. 

“How long?” The woman asked, worry clear in the lines around her eyes as she glanced sideways at the man.

“Not long, till nightfall.” Namine watched as the woman spoke softly and quickly to her companions, worried glances passing between them all and she longed to explain further. “Help will come.” She added, hoping they would understand. 

Eventually they agreed, nodding solemnly, and with a small grunt of effort the man picked Squall up from where he lay against Namine’s legs and moved him under the shelter of the trees. Swiftly, they set up a small camp, lighting a fire and sharing food as they waited for the last of the light to fail and night to fall over the forest. 

*******

“When did you learn Gaian?” Cloud asked Aerith, keeping one eye on the young girl who was closely tending to Squall. He had been a little alarmed to see the rodent scurrying across her shoulders as she had bent to press a warm cloth to Squall’s head, before he’d recalled the young man’s explanation of Guardians and he wondered if this small mouse was hers; the notion bringing a faint smile to his lips as he’d watched her work. 

“I didn’t,” Aerith replied, picking at a sliver of dried meat. “Merlin taught me a few words here and there, and I remember my mother being able to speak it. She’d travelled a lot before I was born.”

“Well, we’ll need all of your knowledge if we’re going to get Squall back to his village. I don’t even know where it is.”

“I suppose it’s a bit of good luck we ran into those two then.” Aerith inclined her head, and chewed with a grimace on her meagre meal. “And to think, the whole of Balamb and we run into a pair of Gaian’s that knew Squall. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” 

“I wonder how we ever got this far. I’m just thankful that we found them at all.” Cloud replied in hushed tones. He sat with his back against the trunk of an elm tree. He had shed his thick wools and fur lined leathers to leave his light cotton shirt, and the air was cool and fragrant, and even in the darkness of the early night Cloud still marvelled at the greenness of Balamb. He had been unable to pry his eyes away from the vast undulating landscape as it had emerged from the fog, rolling backwards for forever as it had disappeared over the horizon, like a sea of rippling leaves. He had never in all of his years seen so much of it; the close, muggy air that clung to his skin as they’d descended had been almost suffocating. Was this what summer felt like? Cloud closed his eyes and rested his head back against the tree, relishing in the feel of a cool breeze against his clammy skin. The sensation was delicious and he shivered with delight. 

“I could get used to it here.” He said with a small smile.

“It’s a good job. I think we might be here for a while; if they’ll have us.” Aerith replied with a note of worry in her voice. 

Before Cloud could reply with his own worries, Tifa emerged from the shadows just outside of their camp, a brace of conies tied over her shoulder. “Here, these should see you through till you reach wherever it is you’re going.” She told them both, throwing them down by the fire. The two Gaians looked up at her arrival, but did not reply. 

“You’re not coming with us?” Cloud asked, brows furrowed and a small note of hurt in his voice. Tifa shook her head. 

“I can’t. I have to get back. Cid will only tolerate the children for so long.” She said with a rueful smile. “Besides, at least I know which direction you’re heading in now. If I need you, I’ll know how to find you.” She crouched down and smiled fondly at them both.

“When will you leave?” Cloud asked, sitting forwards.

“I’ll wait for you to head off, then do some hunting of my own; maybe rest up a day or two before heading back.”

“Tifa, I…” Cloud began. He wanted to thank her in all kinds of ways, but finding the words was difficult. It always had been. 

“Save it,” Tifa half laughed, taking pity on him. “At least until you leave. I can’t stand watching you say goodbye twice.”

“I… I couldn’t have made it this far without you.” Cloud said anyway after a short silence. Tifa’s smile broadened and a faint blush crept into her cheeks. Her eyes glinted wetly and were full of love, tinged around the edges with sadness. 

“I know.” 

Cloud smiled and let out a soft laugh. It was impossible to tell her how much he loved her. He was glad she knew anyway. 

In the distance, high above the clouds and over the mountains, a deep roll of thunder grumbled out along the sky, followed by a sudden flash of lightning that made the three travellers jump and tense. Cloud stood, startled and immediately on edge, and looked out from under the canopy of leaves. Like a slow building drum roll, a soft hazy rainfall began; pattering against the foliage and spotting Cloud’s upturned face with warm moisture. With a curious frown he reached up and wiped away the wetness, staring at his fingers with confusion before he looked at the two Gaians who were staring at him with faint amusement dancing in their eyes. The one with the mouse spoke softly to her friend, a quick giggle passing between them before the blonde one spoke up, mirth clear in her pretty, lilting words. Cloud looked to Aerith to translate. 

“Rain.” Aerith informed him, a small shrug of her shoulders as she moved to join him out in the open, stretching out her palm to capture the strange phenomenon falling from the sky. “They called the loud noise 'thilnas.' I don’t know the word to translate it.”

“They don’t look worried,” Tifa noted as she stood from her crouch by the fire, curiosity on her face as she reached out to capture the rain drops. Another flash of lightning and a crash of thunder made them all jump again, their nerves only pacified by the soft laughter of the Gaian girls as they watched them. 

“I think we’re making fools of ourselves.” Cloud smiled gently, genuine warmth spreading through him as he let the Gaian’s laughter wash over him. It was strange to find such comfort in the sound, but the oddity of it reflected the lack of laughter that had been at Avalanche, and that softened some of the sting of Cloud’s force escape. 

The blonde girl stood and looked up at the sky, seeming to weigh up what she saw before she looked at her new travelling companions and spoke quickly, waving her hand at the sky and away towards the North West. Cloud turned to Aerith with raised brows. 

“Something about waiting for the thilnas to pass. I think they want us to move on again when it stops.” Aerith shrugged, hoping she was understanding her right. 

The time passed quickly and without much more commotion, and before long the crescent moon had reached its zenith and the two young girls stood with sombre faces. 

“It’s time to go,” Aerith nudged Cloud out of his light doze. He looked so weary and haggard; Aerith was afraid for a moment that he wouldn’t be able to carry on, before he scrubbed at his face and stood. 

Quickly they packed their things, rolling up their furs into bundles with the extra rope and slung them across their backs, before Cloud reached down to gather Squall back into his cloak and settle him in his arms.

Tifa stood from tending the fire and wrapped her arms around herself, unable to watch as they prepared to go. Cloud came to stand before her.

“We’ll see each other again, I promise.” He said softly. Tifa looked up, real tears balancing on her lashes as she looked around at everyone waiting to leave, and realised there was no more time left. She threw her arms around Cloud’s neck, pressing her face to the side of his and squeezed him as hard as she dared.

“I hope he’s worth it.” She whispered into his ear, pressing a small kiss to his cheek as she parted with a gentle smile. 

They left her behind, their departure silent and sombre as they disappeared into the night, her heavy words sinking like a stone in Cloud’s guts as he followed the two young Gaians into the woods and started on the last part of their journey. 

*******

They walked until midday the next day. Progress was slow and painful, stopping often to negotiate a path through thick foliage and steep inclines, and as they collapsed by an ambling, shallow river, it was all Cloud could do not to fall unconscious from the heat and exhaustion. Aerith knelt next to him as he lay beside Squall, arm flung over his eyes to shade them from the sun that streamed through the canopy, and put a worried hand against his chest. 

“You can’t keep going like this, you’ll kill yourself.” She said wiping the sweat from her own brow with the grubby cuff of her shirt. 

“We don’t have any other choice.” Cloud rasped moving his arm to squint up at her.

Aerith frowned and bit her lip, dread and fear tightening knots in her stomach as she fought to control her irrational temper. The heat was doing strange things to her mind.

Namine stepped close and held out a skin of cool water and Aerith took it with a smile and thanked her. 

“You should rest while you can. We move again at nightfall.” Namine told her, casting a quick appraising glance at Cloud and Squall; both lay still and unmoving, eyes closed, and looked beaten and worn.

“Namine says you should sleep,” Aerith said as she nudged Cloud to take some water. “We’ve got until nightfall, then we start out again.”

Cloud nodded, struggling to raise himself onto his elbow and drink and before Aerith could scold him twice he had resumed his exhausted sprawl and had fallen asleep. 

When he awoke again it was to the smell of firewood and food, and the light cool scent of early evening. The sun had lost its intensity, and he felt almost chilly. Cloud sat up and blinked away the sleep from his misted eyes and looked about the camp. The two Gaian’s sat close by, eating quietly, while Aerith slept on, her head bundled on her pack of furs. As he got to his feet to wake her, the sound of a dog barking in the distance made them all look to the north, Namine and Kairi sitting up straight with wide and excited expressions. 

The barking came again and moments later a blood hound appeared on the other side of the river, bounding out from the underbrush with its tail wagging and ears flopping, before it plunged into the shallow waters and paddled across. Namine quickly rose to her feet and rushed to greet the animal, bending to pet it and hug it close as it emerged onto the bank and shook itself clean of water. She shouted over her shoulder, her words swift and excited, the commotion finally waking Aerith who rubbed at her eyes and sat up with a groggy wince. 

“What is it?” 

“I don’t know.” Cloud shook his head, watching the strange scene as Namine and the dog stared at each other for a few moments. Aerith clambered to her feet and dusted herself off and waited for Namine to wonder back with the hound in tow. 

“I think she said somethings coming… I don’t know what.” Aerith said after Namine had skipped to a stop and jabbered enthusiastically, waving her arms with a wide smile.

“Whatever it is, it can’t be bad news.” Cloud supplied, cautious despite himself appraising the wide smile on Namine’s face.

They didn’t have to wait long to find out. A few minutes later the dog began to bark loudly again, it’s tail wagging furiously as it darted backwards and forwards between their camp and the river bank, turning circles as he sent his call up into the air. Gradually, shapes began to emerge between the greenness of the bushes, leaves trembling as whatever was in there struggled to break through.

Cloud gasped and took a step back as a large black bear ambled out from the thicket, followed closely by a tall muscular man with hair as bright as his own. He was bare-chested and covered in bluish markings, tan leather leggings tight around his thighs and strange trinkets tied to bands around his arms. A long knife was strapped at his hip, the end curved slightly as it bounced against his leg and he smiled broadly as he spotted their party across the river. He waved, shouting in greeting, before patting the bear heavily against its hind quarters and stepped into the river.

Cloud reached down into his boot and pulled his dagger out, holding it tightly at his side as the man and the bear approached, and his eyes grew wider still as another figure emerged from the foliage behind them. This one was taller still, his long auburn hair tied back onto a tail, many small braids and trinkets woven into it; barefooted, his step was light and elegant as he shot towards the river, a giant, spotted cat-like creature prowling closely behind. 

As the first man and his bear reached their side of the river, Namine hurried over, throwing herself into his arms with a wild shriek of delight. He spun her around, pressing his forehead to hers before setting her back on her feet and Kairi followed suit. Her giddy, infectious giggle filled the sheltered clearing with warm bubbles of laughter.

Still, Cloud was reluctant to move away from his guard over Squall, his eyes flicking between the two newcomers and the wild animals they brought with them. Aerith was close at his back, a firm hand twisted in the sleeve of his shirt as she watched them warily. 

Namine spoke quickly, her words tumbling from her lips in excited notes of musical language and she pointed towards them, the man with the bear looking up at them with a face that had slipped from excited to unreadable in a matter of moments. Cloud thought he heard Squall’s name and the man’s eyes flicked to the Gaian at Cloud’s feet. He moved forwards, his long legs taking him quickly to where Squall lay and he made to kneel, Cloud reflexively taking a step forwards as he raised his knife. The movement was quick and threatening and it made the Gaian tense quickly and reach for the sword at his hip.

Namine swiftly rushed between them, placing a staying hand against the big man’s arm and she appeared to scold him quickly. Cloud watched as the man’s eyes narrowed at him, calculating him as he looked him up and down until eventually he spoke; a short sharp bark that came out like a command. When Cloud did not respond, Namine repeated his words. 

“He… he wants to know your name. I think.” Aerith whispered, reaching up to place a careful hand against Cloud’s wrist to lower the knife point.

Cloud let the silence linger just a moment longer, before he dropped his arm completely and relaxed his stance just a touch. 

“Cloud.” He said, jutting his chin out in a small nod of greeting. 

The man’s face appeared to shift slightly, a small flexing of his jaw as he let go of the tension around his eyes and he nodded a grunt in reply, holding out his arm for Cloud to grasp. Cautiously, Cloud reached out, gripping him around the forearm and he let out a small whoosh of air as the man pulled him in to an awkward embrace. 

“Seifer,” he replied as he let him go, gripping his wrist tightly one last time before he stepped away. He pointed over his shoulder at the other newcomer. “Irvine.” He said clearly.

Cloud nodded, a little awkward and wary still of the giant beasts that were sat by the river. 

Seifer dropped to his knee again, and deeming it safe enough, Cloud stepped back and placed the knife back in his boot. He watched, nerves on edge and a strange sort of possessiveness in his heart, as Seifer placed a hand to Squall’s tangled hair and brushed it aside. The powerful Gaian leaned down and gently touched his forehead to Squall’s, the soft whispers of a heartfelt greeting falling from his lips as he smiled sadly and sat up. He considered Squall for a short while, his thoughts passing behind his expressive green eyes too quickly for Cloud to know what they were before Seifer turned to Namine just over his shoulder and spoke low and urgently. They conversed quickly, and within moments a decision had been reached. 

Namine sprang into action, clearing the campsite and putting out the fire; returning the forest to how it had been before they had taken rest, and seeing their preparations to leave, Cloud and Aerith gathered their own things. Before the sun had barely touched the horizon, shifting the shadows into long stretches of cool shade, they were ready to move again. 

Seifer had gathered Squall up into his muscular arms and had settled him comfortably against his chest. Cloud was about to protest, a look of indignation furrowing his brows before Aerith put a hand on his bicep and spoke softly at his side. “Let him carry him. You’re tired, we’ll move faster this way.”  
She had a point and Cloud knew it. Feeling the bone deep ache in his arms and shoulders, and a weariness that felt like it would never leave him, he relented, nodding with a soft sigh. 

“How much further?” Aerith asked Namine as they crossed the river, the young girl helping her up the bank on the other side with a little giggle as she slipped on the wet grass. 

“Not much. We’ll reach Winhill by morning.”

And Namine’s words, although a few of them she did not understand, brought so much relief to Aerith’s heart that she felt an unexplainable surge of tears fill her eyes. The feeling was soothed and replaced with a gentle calmness, and with a soft smile Namine put her arms around Aerith’s waist and embraced her briefly.  
“Don’t be sad,” she said as she pulled away and the soothing intensified for a moment, leaving Aerith wide eyed and a little shaken as she recognised the touch of ancient magic shimmering against the young girl’s skin. “Matron will know what to do.” And with that Namine turned and headed off into the forest, following the path Seifer and Irvine had cut through the thick foliage, their Guardian’s following closely behind. 

*******

“It’s no good; I can’t keep hold of it. The memory disappears as soon as I touch it!” Ellone exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration. 

Adel opened a sleeping eye and picked her head up off her paws, yawing lazily as she stretched a little. The lioness had grown bored of watching her Gaian, and the grounding magic that tethered Ellone to the Lifestream while she worked in the shadow lands of memories was hardly taxing. She could have done it in her sleep, only she was intrigued to see how her Gaian would attempt this morning’s lessons. But all too soon it had become apparent that they would end just like the others: in frustration and tantrums. It was tedious work, and Ellone raised an impatient eyebrow at her Guardian for the uncharitable thought.

'I’m trying.' She said sulkily.

'Hardly.' Adel replied with a wry huff. 

Ellone pouted, crossing her arms curtly as Adel lowered her head to her paws and closed her eyes again.

“You must treat it gently,” Edea instructed lighting more incense, the spicy scent filing the hut until Ellone felt she might choke. “As if it were like smoke. Grasp it too tightly and it will disappear through your fingers. Coax it. Manipulate the space around it. Then you can control it.” Edea spread her fingers, lacing the tendrils of incense through the digits as she pulled the air around her into the cunning shape of a butterfly, its wings beautifully crafted from the smoke so that the sunlight shone through them. Ellone had seen the trick a hundred times before as a child, and she rolled her eyes, unimpressed as she unfolded her arms. 

“I’m trying.” She replied indignantly.

“No,” Edea said curtly “You are not.”

Ellone gripped her folded knees tightly and glared. She was about to open her mouth with a sullen and spiked reply when the air outside the little hut changed. The vibrations shifted, moving from the slow and lazy ululations of a summers day to a vibrant, frantic excitement, the thoughts and feelings of the Gaian village all humming at once as a commotion broke out and the shouts and calls and voices of the villagers went up, breaking the tension between the two women. 

Ellone frowned and twisted to look behind her, the half covered doorway looking down on the village to see people flocking to the edge of the settlement, and she uncrossed her legs, rising to her feet as Edea did with a quizzical expression.

“What’s going on?” She said, feeling the light tug of Adel’s curiosity in her own mind as the lioness got to her feet too.

“Step aside, child.” Edea told her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder as she stepped outside, her eyes narrowing.

On the far edge of the valley, where the tree line broke into the vast clearing and the first small huts were dotted amongst the shade, six figures stood surrounded by a gathering crowd. With a breathy release that came out like a gasp, Edea clutched her fist to her chest, feeling light headed and weak, before she steadied herself on strong legs and spoke quickly and urgently behind her. 

“Ellone, come with me, now.” She held out her hand and gasped Ellone’s, the young girl’s expression still puzzled, and she pulled her from the hut, all but dragging her down the small incline and down onto the valley floor. 

More people flocked to the returning travellers, running past Edea and Ellone as they quickly marched to where the throng of people had stopped the hunter’s return, and they parted like the shifting wafts of incense from Edea’s hut as she walked through them. As the last Gaian stepped aside, Edea saw Seifer – strong and proud and grim faced – holding a bundle of wool and cloth close to his chest, the shape of a man barely discernible within its folds. Edea held her breath, her eyes meeting the warrior’s as she reached out and placed her hand on the blanket.

“You found him?” She asked as she moved the material aside, revealing the sleeping profile of a familiar face so changed and sickly, the hard beating of Edea’s heart turned painful to see it. 

“We did,” Seifer replied quietly, looking down at the young Gaian in his arms, “But he needs your help. Quickly.”

“What’s going on, what is it?” Ellone asked, shouldering past the crowd to stand beside Edea, her expression annoyed and perplexed. Her eyes settled on the bundle in Seifer’s arms and they took a few moments to grow wide with disbelief, her face paling and then turning grey as she wavered on her feet. Edea caught her by the elbow, steadying her, and she watched as the young girl opened her mouth and tried to make a noise.

“S… Squall?” She croaked, the sound full of disbelief and confusion. “It… it can’t be.” She shook her head. Despite what her eyes could see she could feel no connection to the body; recognised no trace of the soul that had been her brother, and she felt only emptiness: a void of nothingness where Squall’s spirit should have touched her. 

“It is him,” Seifer said, breaking her freefall of thought. “Ellone, I promise you it’s him.”

Ellone’s eyes flicked up, veiled with thick lashes, her face still waxen and stiff and now edged with a touch of cold anger. “It can’t be.” She hissed again, shaking her head. She broke her elbow away from Edea’s touch and threw her Matron a cutting sideways glance. “This is some kind of trick? You told me he was dead. You all told me he was dead. I don’t believe you. I won’t!” Turning quickly – almost violently – she pushed her way through the crowd of people, her legs nearly giving way in her hurry to be gone from the wretched thing in Seifer’s arms.

Edea let her go, turning her attention back to the travellers and with an urgent nod of her head, her gaze fell on Cloud and Aerith.

“Who are these strangers?” She asked.

“They are the ones who brought him over the mountains. Humans – Midgarians – but they are good people. At least so Namine says.” Seifer replied, turning to look at the travellers over his shoulder. They stared back, eyes darting here and there to gauge the growing crowed, nerves so close to the surface Edea could almost reach out and pluck them.

“Irvine, show them somewhere they can rest. They must be very tired. Seifer, take Squall to the Healing Home and wait for me there.” Edea said, stepping aside to let Seifer pass.

The Midgarians made to follow, coming up short when Edea held up her hand to stop them and a look of distress passed over the man’s face like a flash of summer lighting.

“He will be taken care of.” Edea said, her tongue tripping over the inelegant language of Midgar with eloquent ease despite not having spoken it for many, many years. Her words were almost flawless, and it took the travellers by surprise. “I promise you, you will see him soon. For now, rest, you have travelled a great distance. Irvine will show you the way.” 

“What will happen to him?” The man spoke, his concern and distress clear in his voice as his eyes followed Seifer.

“I cannot say now. Let me look at him, then we may know what is to be done.”

The man relented, though his fear was not pacified, and Edea was moved by the depth of feelings swirling so openly in a violet hazy cloud within his troubled soul. She reached out and took his face between her hands, startling him momentarily. Gently she pressed her forehead against his, honouring him with the greeting of her people and as she pulled away, her fingers touching his cheeks with reverence, she smiled as warmly as she could.

“The Lifestream will bless you for bringing him back to us.”

The man’s eyes turned solemn and Edea felt painful spikes of guilt under his concern and worry, but he did not reply. He only lowered his gaze and ducked his chin and turned to follow Irvine as the Gaian led them away to find rest and food and shelter.


	17. Chapter 17

Cloud dozed fitfully for the rest of the day. Despite how exhausted he was, the heat and the constant knot of fear in his belly prevented him from falling asleep. Not even the relief of having made it to Balamb or the solemn pride of having kept his promise could ease his mind, and with a huff of frustration he sat up on his bedroll of furs and shoved his hands through his tangled hair. 

Aerith was fast asleep still. Her exhaustion was so complete she would not rise again until the morning and Cloud reached over to pull the light blanket up higher over her shoulder. Despite everything – his guilt, her grief, and the way they had both fled their homeland – he was glad to have her with him. 

His thoughts quickly turned back to Squall, and that griping knot of fear and worry in his stomach tightened. Amongst the shadows of the early night, the sounds of the village settling down to sleep and the peaceful, calming nature of the forest, Cloud allowed the question he had been avoiding all day to creep into the forefront of his mind.

Did Squall still live?

The passing days spent travelling to Balamb had been filled with purpose, Cloud’s mind bent only to a single goal. Now that purpose had been achieved and Cloud’s thoughts had been left free to wonder, and the waiting was terrible. He knew their journey could only end one way. Squall had been certain of it and his slow decline had been the proof. All Cloud had wanted was enough time to get him home; to keep his promise, and the hours spent tossing and turning in his borrowed bed had given Cloud all the time he’d needed to wonder when that end might finally come. 

The thought of the long hours of the night stretching out before him waiting for it to happen decided him. He could wait no longer. Quietly, he got to his feet and crept to the door of the small hut. Leaving his boots behind he stepped out into the hushed night, the gentle breeze clean and fragrant against his washed skin and fresh clothes, and he padded softly through the village, guided by the moon and the starlight towards the centre. He stopped by the well and looked up at the vast sky, seeing it for the first time without the snow clouds or the canopy of trees, and marvelled at the wheeling stars; how endless they seemed and how small he felt. 

Cloud lowered his gaze and took a few moments to regain his equilibrium; soaking in the feel of grass and dirt between his toes and the feel of residual heat in the air despite the suns absence. It was utterly strange and foreign, yet it comforted him, and Cloud’s knotted dread was soothed a little as he breathed deeply. Spotting a flickering light on the rise of a gentle hill – the only light in the still village – Cloud moved towards it. 

Drawing closer he caught the scent of sweet oils, and the low murmur of gentle singing carrying on the breeze and he stopped just outside the soft glow of candle light that spilled from the door of a large tent. Its canvas was a patchwork of hides and leathers, stitched with dried sinew and softened by years of weathering. Inside, casting shadows against the suffused glow of torch light, two figures sat crossed legged around the unconscious body of Squall. 

With a sigh of relief that caught in his throat, Cloud allowed himself a moment to relax. He watched for a while, as the women continued their soft chanting, their hands held lax and palms upwards in their laps, their eyes closed as their lips moved in hushed whispers. Cloud recognised the black haired one, her tight braids were undone and her thick hair tumbled over her shoulders in loose waves; her beads and trinkets removed, she wore a long embroidered robe and its colourful stitches created beautiful swirling patterns in the material. 

The chanting stopped and the woman opened her eyes, finding Cloud outside in the darkness almost immediately. Cloud lowered his gaze, embarrassed to have been caught staring and he missed the subtle nod of the woman’s head as she signalled the other woman to stand. She left in silence, head bent low as she passed Cloud.

“I… I didn’t mean to intrude.” Cloud spoke, his voice cracked and tired. 

“It is difficult to rest when the soul is troubled.” The woman spoke, the trace of a smile creasing the corners of her eyes.

Cloud shifted awkwardly, his gaze falling once again to Squall who lay on a soft pelt of furs, his chest rising and falling rhythmically with his slow breathing. 

“You may come inside.” The woman said, offering him the space opposite her.

“I… I don’t want to-”

“You are not intruding.” She said with a smile. 

Cloud entered the tent, the scents of the burning oils and dried flowers growing stronger and he settled himself carefully onto the plush cushions and crossed his legs. 

“Are you his mother?” Cloud asked, curious all of a sudden to know who this woman was. She had made no effort to introduce herself, and everything was so strange and foreign, it was hard to tell who was what in this country. 

“I raised him,” The woman replied inclining her head a little. “But his mother died the moment he was born. As Matron, it was my duty to care for him.” 

“You’re Matron?” Cloud said, eyes growing wide as his brows disappeared into his hairline. “You’re Edea?”

“You know of me?” Edea almost chuckled.

“Squall spoke of you. He talked a lot of his homeland.” Cloud looked down at the sleeping Gaian, now clean and tidy and adorned with those strange bluish markings; swirling patterns and symbols whose foreign beauty couldn’t hide the ugly scars caused by Ansem’s magic. Cloud thought back to the first time he’d seen him, wild and ferocious and proud as he’d been dragged before the King and Cloud remembered how beautiful he’d been. Even afterwards, marked and humiliated, chained and imprisoned, he had still been beautiful. His time in Midgar had changed him almost beyond recognition.

“You were his friend?” Edea asked, her eyes light and thankful as she watched the human’s face carefully.

Cloud flinched at the word. His relationship with Squall had been so difficult to define in those months; first enemies, then captor and slave, only to become reluctant and unlikely acquaintances. A potent shifting undercurrent of… something else running beneath it all the while. 

“Yes, I was his friend.” Cloud replied in a hushed whisper. “For my part.” 

Edea’s soft features smoothed over and her expression turned thoughtful. She looked down at her foster son and reached out to gently smooth away the hair from his forehead. Her fingers ran through the short strands around his face and finally she asked the question that had been in the forefront of her mind since the day she had felt the terrible tremors ripple through the Lifestream, the moment Griever had been slain. 

“What happened to him?”

Cloud breathed in sharply to cover the spike of pain in his chest. He faced the question he’d been dreading and he replied quietly, with no small amount of shame for his part in it.

“The King.” Cloud said simply, understanding passing between them as they levelled each other with careful eyes. “I… Aerith and I… we did what we could to protect him, but…” Cloud shook his head, ashamed to even try to pretend he’d done enough. 

“And who are you to the King?” Edea’s question cut straight to the core of so much of Cloud’s turmoil. He had no idea how truthful he should be. Revealing too much might get him killed, yet he felt maybe that punishment could be called justice, after everything that had happened. 

“I’m nobody.” Cloud whispered eventually. He figured the answer was true enough. “Just a captain; no one he’ll miss."

“Yet you defied him to bring Squall home.” It was not a question. 

“I did.” Cloud felt no satisfaction his in reply. He’d lost too much to be proud of his actions. He’d waited too long; if he’d acted sooner maybe there could have been some way to save Squall, maybe Zack would still be alive. “There was nothing left for me there.” 

“What makes you so certain there is a life for you here?”

“I didn’t come here for me.” Cloud was quick to answer. “I wanted Squall to be with his family, for when he…” the words got stuck in his throat and he couldn’t bring himself to dislodge them. 

“So, you understand what is happening to him?” Edea nodded.

“He told me. Though he couldn’t explain how he’s held on for so long.”

“That is a mystery to me too. He has been touched by very dark and terrible magic; the slaying of Griever should have been enough to kill him yet somehow he has endured this also.” Edea touched her fingertips delicately to the long and jagged scars that crisscross over Squall’s chest and could not hide the sorrow and anger in her eyes. “But it cannot last. He has come to the end of his fading.” 

The tightness in Cloud’s throat worsened and his chest spasmed; it took him a few moments to gather himself together to speak. “Is there nothing that can be done?” The last of his hope was about to be crushed, and Cloud readied himself for the blow. 

“In order to live, a Gaian must have a Guardian. Only the Lifestream can forge this bond; it is beyond my gifts to create.” Edea said, the first hints of frustration and anger creeping in to her voice.

“Can another Guardian not be found, another animal from the forest?” Cloud asked desperately.

“This is not the way of our magic.” Edea replied with a kind smile, her eyes sad as she looked at Cloud. “A Guardian’s soul must be offered freely, of its own choosing. A wild animal cannot make that sacrifice.” 

Cloud breathed out slowly and bit his lip to stop it from trembling. “There really is nothing that can be done?” he asked, his voice small and weak.  
Edea sighed gently and shook her head. 

“He is dear to you, that much I can see. Perhaps I will leave you alone for a while to say your goodbyes. His family will want to say theirs soon.” Edea stood with fluid grace and left quietly.

For the first time since leaving Midgar, since he’d held Zack’s lifeless body and then ended the life of the Prince, Cloud allowed himself to weep. Quietly and selfishly, he covered his face with his trembling hands and let the bitter tears come.

*******

Aerith found him, close to dawn as the sun was just cresting the tops of the trees, and she sat down beside him. Placing a gentle hand on his knee she leaned against his shoulder and shared in the silence for a while. 

“Have you been here all night?” She asked eventually. 

Cloud nodded. His face was stony and unmoving, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy and his fingers were lax and unresponsive when Aerith picked up his hand and tried to hold them. “We did what we set out to do.” She reminded him, the words painful even to her own ears. Cloud shook his head, his lips parting as if he meant to say something and she could see he was struggling to speak.

“It’s not enough.” He eventually rasped, his voice cracking from lack of use. 

Aerith felt his grip turn hard in her hand. He was staring at Squall, his eyes burning with something that she couldn’t read, something so much more than the guilt she knew he felt. She was about to open her mouth to say something, when the shadow of Edea passed over them and the woman came to stand at the foot of Squall’s pallet. 

“There are others that wish to say goodbye.” She said gently. 

When Cloud did not move, she tried again, her word cut off by Cloud’s sudden question.

“You said the soul of a Guardian must be offered freely,” finally looking away from Squall’s sleeping face, Cloud met Edea’s eyes with a fire burning in his own. “That the soul must offer itself?” 

“I did.” Edea nodded, her brows furrowing. 

Cloud looked back at Squall, his jaw tightening slightly as he firmed his resolution and he let go of Aerith’s hand, standing to meet Edea’s questioning stare once again.

“Then I offer mine.” He said firmly, no hint of doubt in his voice. “I will be Squall’s Guardian.”

“Cloud, what are you doing, what’s going on?” Aerith asked as she stood, worry creasing her brows as she stared between her friend and the strange woman. 

Edea shook her head, her mouth working slowly as she turned over Cloud’s words in her mind. Finally, she closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes. “I do not kno-”

“Can it be done?” Cloud’s heart was beating painfully, his head swimming with sudden adrenaline. 

“You understand what it would mean -- to give up your soul? You would be bound to him forever; compelled to protect him from whatever threatens him.”

Cloud nodded. “I understand.”

“Cloud what are you doing?” Aerith cried, gripping his arm tightly to try and steal his attention. 

“If you are severed, as Griever was, then your soul will be lost forever. There will be no afterlife for you; no way to cross over with the rest of your kind.”

“Are you saying it’s possible?” Cloud said, eyes narrowing.

Aerith bit her tongue, holding back the scream of protest she wanted to let out and waited for Edea to speak. 

“It might be, but there is great risk. Both of you could perish.” 

“What do I have to do?” Cloud’s reply was immediate and he ignored Aerith’s nails cutting into the flesh of his arm. 

Edea was silent; her deep gaze pierced Cloud as she stared at him – seeing through him – and Cloud felt the cold fingers of judgement slide up and down his spine as she searched.

'What should I do?' She asked Ultimecia, so many warring emotions confusing her thoughts.

'It has never been done before, there is no guarantee it will work. They may both end up dying.' The owl spoke, confirming Edea’s fears.

'But if there is a chance to save Squall… the prophesy… my dream, it must mean something…'

'Only the Lifestream can answer those questions. Let him try.'

For a brief moment, Cloud was terrified she would refuse him, before Edea’s shoulders straightened and she lifted her chin to speak.

“There is a sacred place, not far from here, higher up in the valley. It is where the Lifestream breaks the surface of our planet. Some call it the place where life began. That is where you will be transformed. It is the only place that could possibly join the two of you together.”

“Then we have to leave as soon as possible.” Cloud said, breaking away from Aerith as he made to leave the tent. 

“Would it not be kinder to let him go?” Edea’s words stopped him on the threshold and he turned, the rising sun catching the golden tones in his hair and framed his tired face with a soft glow of morning light. “It is an honourable thing you’ve done already. He would have a dignified death here with us.” 

Cloud seemed to consider her words, and Aerith clasped her hands against her chest and prayed to Holy that he would listen. Eventually, Cloud ducked his chin and cast his gaze over the sleeping form of Squall. 

“I promised him he would see his family again.” Cloud spoke lowly, his voice gravely. “He wants to live.” 

Edea appeared to deflate, her shoulders dropping subtly as she stared at the stranger who had brought her child back, and she thought of the prophesy and the vision that had followed it. She did not want her child to suffer any more than he’d already done, but his prophetic return had to mean something.

'He was meant to save him. The Lifestream crossed their paths.' Ultimecia spoke in her mind, the bird tucked safely away on her perch across the village.

'I hope you are right.' Edea replied, that spark of faith igniting in her chest once again, growing stronger as she felt the surety of her decision.

“Very well. We leave within the hour.”

Cloud nodded and left, Aerith fleeing after him as she ran down the small incline into the village.

“Cloud, wait!” She called, catching up to him near the well. She gripped his shoulder and turned him, her eyes wide with fright and confusion. “What are you doing? This is madness.”

“I’m trying to save him, Aerith.” Cloud snapped, his voice coming out harsher than he’d meant it to.

“You never promised you’d save him.” Fear gripped tightly to her heart and it hammered in her chest. If she lost Cloud too…

“So you would let him die?” Cloud hissed, turning fully to look at her. “Is that what you’d have me do? You’d have me sit there knowing there was a way to save him and do nothing?”

“You heard the woman; it would be kinder to let him go. What if it’s his time, Cloud?”

“As it was Zack’s?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and Cloud felt the sting of Aerith’s palm against his cheek a moment later, the force of the blow snapping his head sideways. In the aftermath, as the pain blossomed under his skin and the silence became deafening, he realised he had pushed her too far. Yet despite it all, he could not bring himself to be sorry for his words. He needed her to understand. 

Aerith stood there shaking, her hand covering her mouth as she stared up at her friend, the residual tingling in her palm fading as the seconds ticked by. Ashamed, and trying to appear indignant, she lowered her hand and pushed passed him, turning for the trees and solitude, away from the stares of the Gaian’s who had stopped to watch their shameful outburst. 

Cloud let her go. Pushing aside the pain of their fight, he turned back towards their hut and gathered his things together. He did not know how long he would be gone, or if he would even return, and that momentary flash of realisation made him want to go and find Aerith and apologise; to hold her tight and say goodbye, but he stopped himself. He only had room in his heart for so much doubt. He would see Aerith again. He would do what he could to repair the damage when he returned. 

*******

They left the open trails quickly; climbing into the forest along hidden pathways no human could have possibly seen, and began to climb upwards out of the valley basin. Squall lay on a bier, carried at either end by two Gaians, their swift footwork over uneven ground keeping him level and secure and Cloud followed closely behind.

He was travelling light. Edea had told him to leave all weapons behind. There would be no need for food – he was to fast from now until it was done – and he would be needing no furs or wools in the deep humid heat of the forest. 

“How long before we reach this sacred place?” He asked Edea as she came to walk beside him. 

“Not long, we will reach it before sundown. Winhill was created to protect it. It has been our sacred duty to guard it for the last forty years. Soon we will move on and another tribe will take our place.”

“How many tribes are there?” Cloud asked, needing the distraction.

“Not many, five here in the south. Maybe a thousand Gaian’s in all. We are not an industrious people like you humans,” she said with a smile as she gave Cloud a sideways glance. “Our numbers take time to swell, but we live a long life. Though war is a great leveller.”

“I didn’t realise there were so few of you.” Cloud frowned, quickly calculating the numbers of The Five in his head. Midgar’s armies outnumbered the Gaians two to one, and Cloud shuddered at the thought of the slaughter that would happen if they met in open battle. 

“It is a fact we have been able to hide for many years. Our scouts are skilled at protecting the boarders and men fear what they do not understand. It is a gambit that has served us well, until recently. The war your King intends to start will test us greatly.”

Cloud nodded, understanding Edea’s words all too well. “The King has been preparing for this war for some time.” He wiped at his damp forehead with the back of his sleeve, frowning deeply. “Is every Gaian a warrior; would every man and woman be able to take up arms if Shinra invades?” He was not surprised to discover that Edea knew of Shinra’s plans. If the Gaian scouts were as effective as Edea said, then they would have been aware of Midgar’s movements for some time. 

“A great many are children, though they have Warrior Guardians and are destined to become so. But not every Gaian has the ability to fight.” Edea nodded her head at the Gaian woman who carried one end of Squall’s bier, the same woman who had been in the Healing House last night, praying with Edea. “She is one of our priestess’. Her Guardian is the Raven; its magic is powerful in the healing and building of faith. She is strongly connected to the Lifestream. She has no talent on the battlefield.”

“How many fighters do you have?” Cloud asked, the odds against Midgar’s army growing smaller with every word Edea spoke. 

“You talk as if you are planning for battle.” Edea said with a rueful smile. 

“An old habit.” Cloud replied “In Midgar, all we ever talked of was war.”

Edea nodded, thinking on Cloud’s question for a while as they walked. 

“Here in the Winhill tribe, we have perhaps one hundred Warrior Guardians. But there are others with the skill of a blade or bow. Namine is a tracker, Selphie a messenger, even Kairi who is a nurturer and has no magic for battle would take up arms if I asked. I suspect most of them would. Even our Priestess here. Both the blacksmith and the baker have the right to defend their home from those who would take it from them.”

The gnawing doubt in Cloud’s mind was not eased. Though it was true that every blade was vital, it would do them no good if only half of their army was trained to fight. Shinra’s campaign had never looked more certain of victory. 

“Your people are very brave.” He said by way of a reply, though his thoughts were lost in doubt and fear. 

Edea stopped and placed a hand on his shoulder, ripping Cloud from his thoughts so suddenly he almost stumbled. He looked down at her, blinking owlishly, and with an earnest frown, Edea spoke. 

“I understand why you are afraid. But if you think that we do not know the impossible odds that we face then you are a foolish man. We have been preparing for this war for many years, since before you were born. There are powers for good just as there are for evil and I would never let my people perish in vain.” Her eyes almost crackled with their intensity, and for a moment Cloud was chastised. He felt the low burn of humility sting his cheeks and he looked away sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I just-”

“Faith is perhaps the greatest weapon of all,” Edea spoke, her words once again soft and understanding as her grip loosened on his shoulder. “Trust in something greater than yourself, Cloud. Let it show you how powerful it can be.”

They began to move again, walking quickly to catch up with the rest of their small party and they travelled the last long hours in silence. 

*******

They made good time, arriving under a dense canopy of trees that covered a towering cliff face. The thick green leaves of ferns and ivy climbed the granite walls, broken only by the wide, yawing entrance to a secret cave, and around the entrance symbols and patterns like the ones painted on Squall’s skin were carved deep into the rock, the deep grooves lined with moss and dirt. The total blackness beyond seemed to stretch on forever. 

“The Lifespring.” Edea spoke, her voice a hushed breathy thing amongst the buzzing of insects and the sounds of birds that filled the air.

Their party had stopped outside and the two Gaian’s had laid Squall’s bier down on the grass beside the entrance. They pulled torches from their satchels and began lining the ends with tar soaked rags.

“No human has ever stepped foot here. It is the most sacred place on this earth; you must understand this before you enter.” Edea told Cloud as she took one of the torches offered to her. 

“What will happen when we’re inside?” Cloud asked, swallowing past the tight knot of nerves in the back of his throat. 

“We will go down to the Lifestream. It bubbles up from a well within the rock. There we will prepare you both for the task you must undertake.”

“Is there something I have to do, words that I have to know?” Cloud took the other torch offered to him and his eyes grew wide as the Priestess cupped her hand around the end and blew across the rag, igniting it with her breath.

“Keep your purpose in your heart. Let us do the rest.” Edea said with a gentle smile. She took him by the elbow and led him into the cave, their torches casting flickering shadows along the walls as they passed, and Cloud could see the symbols and patterns that carried on further down, carved lovingly into the stone as if to guide the way. 

They descended quickly, the air growing cooler as moisture began to form on the walls and as the ground beneath their feet grew slippery it slowly levelled out and a light at the end of the darkness began to glow. It grew more intense as they drew nearer, soft hues of blue and green shimmering on the walls and the light of their torches grew dim in comparison. Stepping out into a high vaulted, circular cave that stretched up hundreds of feet above them, Cloud felt a blast of warm air hit his face and his eyes grew wide with disbelief.

In front of him, twisting and coiling around itself as it meandered up into the blackness above, was a column of iridescent blue light, that flickered and shimmered like fire, yet cast shadows on the walls like water. It was utterly silent, and the deafening quiet pressed down on Cloud as he stepped away from the entrance and gazed up at the tower of light. Before them stretched a precipice that hung over a pool of water, its glassy surface reflecting the brilliance of the glowing Lifestream, and dotted about the walls, all around the cave, were thousands upon thousands of candles. 

Edea took the torch from Cloud’s grasp, passing them to the Priestess who had settled Squall in front of them, and with a gentle hand to his shoulder, she brought Cloud out of his revere.

“You must remove your clothes.” She told him, fondness colouring her words as she watched his awestruck face. 

“A… all of them?” Cloud stammered, heat colouring his cheeks as he watched the Priestess wash away the symbols on Squall’s body.

“All of them. You must enter the Lifestream as you emerged from it.”

Cloud hesitated, but with a gentle nod of encouragement from Edea he began to undress. Once he was done, Edea reappeared before him, a bowl of something bluish and sticky in her hands and Cloud squirmed uncomfortably, bashfully covering himself as she stared at him. She dipped her finger into the mixture and began to cover him in the same curious signs and symbols that had adorned the walls of the cavern; each mark precise and delicate, she worked quickly.

“These will instruct the Lifestream and guide it in your purpose, allowing it access to your soul. When the Stream touches you, you must hold your purpose in the forefront of your mind. Do not try to hide yourself; there is no part of you the Lifestream does not already know.”

“How will I know when it is done?” Cloud rasped, his mouth suddenly dry.

“You will know.” Edea said solemnly. 

Cloud looked up at the ominous, silent tower of light and felt his breath steal away. The sight and feel of it was oppressive, and he was ashamed to admit that he was terrified, a loud voice of reason and doubt shouting in his mind to turn back and save himself. 

“It is bravery and love that has brought you here,” Edea said, placing a palm against his cheek, breaking his stare. “Why else would you be so willing to give up the only thing you truly own?”

“I…I don’t-” Cloud shook his head, far too many thoughts and feelings crashing against each other to take much comfort in her words.

“Hold on to them. Do not forget your purpose.” Edea took him by the arm and guided him out on to the precipice and pointed to where the edge hung over the large pool of water and touched the Lifestream. “You will feel it pull you in, but do not step into it. Stay grounded, or you will be lost forever.”

Cloud glanced back at Squall, lying so still and pale on his bier, his naked body clean of his own markings and covered in a simple white shroud. His fear was not diminished, yet he felt a bolstering of his determination – a surety of his actions – and with a nervous swallow he turned back towards the Lifestream and signalled with a small, curt nod of his head that he was ready. 

Edea held out her hand in offering, and Cloud stepped out onto the precipice. Drawing closer the billowing heat grew more intense yet his skin did not prickle and burn. Instead he shivered, and he clenched his fists and came to stand before the rippling blue coils of energy and stopped just a hairs breadth from touching it. Breathing out slowly, he closed his eyes and focused his mind, as Edea had told him to do, and let his arms fall out to the side, offering himself on trembling limbs as he waited for whatever might happen. 

He felt the first touches of power lick at his skin; the Lifestream flicking out tendrils as it tested his body and within moments he was surrounded. The darkness around him and the dotted lights of the candles were eclipsed by a warm bluish haze and in a rush of power he gasped, his mouth hanging open as the Lifestream forced its way inside his chest and along his extremities, tensing every muscle in his body as he snapped taught. His back became rigid and his breath stopped in his throat, unable to draw in or out yet he did not suffocate. Instead he felt weightless, and could hear nothing but the rush of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart in his temples. 

It was then he felt it: the slow slipping of something being pulled from him. The feeling of something within being stripped away and when it was gone, he felt no fear or anxiety, no love or bravery. He was hollow. Alone with his thoughts and memories. No feelings and no emotions.

A flash of bright white light took what little vision he had, and dancing in the vastness was a flickering image. Its shape was completely indiscernible yet it felt wild and ferocious, full of power and strength and he was being filled up with it; that hollow place inside of him where all of his emotions had dwelt was once again replenished. His limbs were no longer leaden, but full of a strength he had never felt before. He became aware of every fibre and sinew of his body, and with a final blast of energy that forced the silent scream from his chest, he was thrown backwards on to the rocky ground and was left gasping as if he’d emerged from water. 

It took moments that felt like hours for his senses to return. The white light in his vision faded until he could see only the dull shapes of the cave, and his body no longer felt powerful and full of life, but heavy. His limbs throbbed and his whole being seemed to vibrate with something that left him reeling. He felt a terrible pining; an ache in his centre that had no name and no way to be silenced. He could not be certain what he searched for, only that he was searching; incomplete and suffering, and the pain of it was all consuming.

"It is the Longing." Edea said, suddenly kneeling beside him sensing his distress. "You are a Guardian without a Gaian, only half existing. It is the feeling of your soul crying out for its host. It will not stop until you are joined."

"It… it's unbearable." Cloud gasped, tears rolling from his eyes, sorrow filling him up from the very core of his being. He tried to sit himself up onto his elbow, his equilibrium swimming as the world danced around him.

"It will be over soon. The next part begins now." She helped him to stand and they stumbled back from the precipice, away from the strange heat that did not burn, and collapsed next to Squall who had been repainted, the signs and symbols along his body different.

"You must take him and step into the Lifestream. There you will both pass through it and be made anew. Or both perish. Whichever the Lifestream sees fit to decide." Edea took his face and began to paint the last of her instructions, decorating his skin with the final part of his journey: an open eye in the centre of his forehead that mirrored Squall’s.

Beneath the markings, Cloud's face was strained and pale, spotted with small beads of perspiration. He licked his lips and nodded, fear so evident in his blue eyes which were now tinged around the irises with a soft green hue. 

It was good that he was afraid, Edea thought. No great deed should ever be done without a fear of failure. She put a hand to his cheek and felt the ripple of her touch disturb his chaotic emotions which were only just held in check by his trembling willpower. He was strong, the Lifestream would acknowledge that.

"Your fate is no longer in your hands. This burden of responsibility does not fall on you. Keep that truth in your heart, and let the Lifestream guide you. Trust in it, and we may meet again on the other side."

It was hard for Cloud to focus on her words through the powerful Longing that consumed him. It broke into every thought and rippled through every muscle in his body. Was this what Squall felt when Griever had been killed? All those days and months of this feeling? Cloud gritted his teeth and tried to take comfort in Edea's reassurance. It was too late to turn back. He was a Guardian now and without Squall he would perish. There was only one way forward. That knowledge bolstered him more than any words of comfort ever could and he picked Squall up, struggling to his feet with the weight of everything he was about to do pressing down on his shoulders and walked back to the precipice. Standing before the towering, glowing column of green and blue he stopped and felt the rush of heat and wind against his fevered skin. The others had formed a loose circle around the edge of the cave, their eyes closed and lips moving in silent prayer, hands held out and palms facing upwards. He looked back at Edea, and she too had begun to pray, her thoughts turned far inwards. 

Cloud had never prayed before. Not really, and not with any sort of religious integrity. All of his prayers to Holy and Jenova had been lip service; a dutiful recital of words that had fallen from his mouth and had meant nothing. But he prayed now. Pushed away the Longing as far as he could and sent his plea into the Lifestream, and he begged for it to save them both.

"Please..."

Cloud closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Holding Squall tighter to his chest, his thoughts filled with hope and a fierce love, he let the breath out slowly and stepped into the void.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate Strifehart Day (07/08/2016) I'm updating a week early. Hope you all enjoy.

Darkness. 

On the edge of nothing Cloud waited; an incorporeal form stretching his senses out into oblivion, the passage of time a strange an elusive construct, with no earth below him or sky above him. And then, on the edge of something that could have been a horizon, he felt another presence. An indistinct shape that was more a feeling that a tangible thing. A shifting, ever changing mass that despite its restless turning remained constant. The feel of it familiar and homely; appearing to grow closer yet it remained an infinite distance away, almost always forever out of his reach but still somehow connected to him. 

Slowly, he began to collect his body to him, becoming aware of the soft beating of his heart and the slow breaths that fed it; the heaviness of his limbs and the soft coursing of his blood as it warmed him. And then the ground too became known to him. He could feel it beneath his back and shoulders and the weight of the earth as it pressed him to its surface. He was no longer floating, but tethered and solid.

Sound came back to him then. The quiet hum of the earth as it turned, the place he was in still quiet and peaceful but not as complete as the blackness he had emerged from. The rhythmic drip, drip, drip of water, and then the soft rustle of cloth and scrape of skin against stone. 

And still, that presence on the edge of his mind lingered; tethered to him, coiled and entwined and so completely a part of him it was as if he were looking at himself in the glassy reflection of a mirror. He knew every feature, recognised every touch, and when he reached out his senses to caress it, he felt it respond with a soft pulse of contentment; almost as if it sighed. 

He felt a hand in his hair and with a groan that startled him he winced and cracked his eyes open, blinded by the dimness of the cave, and looked up into a face that despite its familiarity seemed entirely new. 

“The Lifestream has chosen to grant you your request.” Edea whispered, and Cloud could feel the waves of joy and hope tumbling from her. They washed over him like smoke, and he found himself gasping from the sensation. “You are seeing the world with new eyes,” Edea smiled at him “It will take you some time to become used to it.”

Like a flickering light sparking to life in the darkness, Cloud recalled where he was, and it washed away the confusion and the maddening pulses of feelings and senses and he croaked out a single word as he turned his head away from Edea and looked beside him.

“S… Squall?” Suddenly the presence in his mind became solidified, and looking upon the Gaian beside him, Cloud pieced together the humming, pulsating life force with the body, and he was instantly grounded. 

“He flourishes also. The Lifestream has healed him of the tainted magic.” Edea reached across and pulled away the crisp white cloth that covered Squall to reveal his body that was once again flawless and smooth, the wasting that had destroyed his natural beauty had vanished, and he looked peaceful in his slumber. Only the thin scar made by the King’ knife remained, even its mark upon his face now faded and silvery. Edea replaced the blanket.

“We prayed all night. You return to us at the rising of the sun.”

Cloud could barely tare his eyes away from Squall, yet as he closed them, fatigue still lingering in his limbs, he felt the young man’s impression at the very core of his being. It was as if he had not closed his eyes at all, and Squall’s air invaded every part of him.

“Where are the others?” he asked, knowing without looking that the three of them were alone in the Lifespring.

“I sent them outside to keep vigil. They helped you from the waters when you emerged from the Lifestream, but their part here is done now.”

Cloud mustered his energy and rose to his elbows, wincing with the effort. Edea helped him to sit, peeling back the warm blanket that covered him to pool around his waist, and on shaking limbs that felt full of strength yet strangely hollow, Cloud leaned over Squall and placed a hand to his face, cupping his cheek lightly. He felt warmth beneath his palm and a softly pulsing life-force. It thrummed against his skin and tingled along his arm, creating a warm fluttering sensation within his chest, and with a gentle sigh of relief he bent to place a kiss to Squall’s forehead.

“Has he woken yet?” he asked as he sat back up, the feeling of Edea’s tender affection prickling against his skin.

“Not yet. But we need not wait. If you are strong enough to travel, we will return to Winhill today.”

“I can walk.” Cloud nodded, making to stand. Edea placed a hand on his arm and put a bowl of food into his lap and smiled kindly.

“Eat first. I will call the others to help prepare for our return.”

Edea left, her departure almost soundless as she faded into the blackness of the tunnel that led back up to the forest, and Cloud was alone again, surrounded by the twinkling lights of the candles and the soft blue glow of the Lifestream as it coiled upwards, casting watery shadows on the rocky outcrop they were resting on. 

Cloud ate quickly and then stumbled to his feet, finding his balance within moments. He dressed silently, covering the faint smudges of the markings that had been washed away by the water in the pool and then knelt beside Squall again to wait for Edea’s return. He gathered his Gaian up and held him against his chest, running his fingers through the soft strands of Squall’s hair and closed his eyes. He had never before in his life felt such serenity and peace; knowing that a life beat steadily and strongly and that he was connected to it. It was a feeling of such surety that for the first time in a very long time, Cloud felt proud and brave and he whispered his thanks into the crown of Squall’s hair and felt his prayer received by the Lifestream with a warm pulse of energy. There was a moment of clarity, in which Cloud was certain beyond all doubt, that no matter where he was in the world, this place – this feeling inside of him – was home. 

Edea and the others returned, and Cloud helped them lay Squall onto the bier and carefully arrange the blankets. Soon, they were ascending, and broke out into the bright morning light and the chaotic hum of life that filled the forest and Cloud was staggered by it. He felt everything interwoven and intricate, spanning miles and miles in every direction. Even the very earth beneath his feet seemed connected to it; a steady ebb and flow of life, pulsating with a constant rhythm that made the world feel as if it turned on a heartbeat.

“Don’t try to fight against it.” Edea appeared at his shoulder and Cloud was suddenly aware that he had stopped in the small clearing outside of the cave. His limbs were shaking, and his mind seemed to swim as if he were seasick, his vision dancing and flickering with the constant noise in his mind. “Remove your boots. Anchor yourself to the earth.”

Cloud did as he was instructed and felt the slow see-sawing ease and the maddening cacophony in his head recede.

“It will get easier with time. You will learn to shut it out and concentrate only on what you need to feel.” 

Cloud’s eyes found Squall and he followed him as he was carried down the hill. He focused his mind and felt again that strong and unwavering presence anchoring him. With a curt nod of his head, he signalled that he was alright, and they pressed on after the small party, slowly making their way back down into the valley towards Winhill. 

*******

They returned to the village with the fading of the light, Cloud leaning heavily against Edea as she helped him through his last steps back towards the Healing Home. Their return sent ripples through the community, and Cloud who was exhausted by the travelling and the constant press of life at his senses almost moaned at the feeling of excitement and joy that pulsated from the people gathering at the bottom of the hill. 

Though there were many people who had come to see their return, Cloud spotted a lone figure far off in the distance, slowly approaching. She was far away, and her shape was almost indistinct, yet Cloud could feel her eyes on him and he immediately felt a flicker of recognition. He knew she saw him, and her slow walk turned into a steady run, before she barrelled into the gathering crowed, pushing past them with urgency and hurried up the hill. As she reached the top, breathless and sweating, she called out his name and threw her arms open. Letting go of Edea, Cloud caught Aerith as they both collapsed to the ground, the young woman wrapping her arms around him tightly as she sobbed.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, pressing her face into Cloud’s neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Cloud told her, holding her close, feeling the relief and the guilt come pouring off her in waves. They were draining what little energy he had left and he swayed on his knees a little, nudging her back to that he could regain his balance. She relented eventually, letting go to cup his face between her hands and stare up at him through reddened, tear stained eyes. 

“I thought I was going to lose you.” She admitted.

“I’m alright.”

“Where’s Squall?”

Cloud glanced over her shoulder and nodded towards the tent. They had already returned him to the Healing Home and only Edea stood with Cloud, watching them closely as the rest of the village gathered. 

“Is he…?”

“He’s alive. The Lifestream… somehow, it worked.” Cloud told her a little breathless, shaking his head. He could feel the inevitable pull of unconsciousness begin to blacken the edges of his vision and Edea put a hand on his shoulder.

“You need to rest. Come with me.” Edea and Aerith helped him stand and guided him back into the Healing Home, settling him on the same pelt of furs next to Squall. 

“Does this mean… are you a Guardian now?” Aerith asked, sitting down next to him and gently stroked the hair back from his forehead. 

Cloud closed his eyes and nodded his head, far too exhausted to stay awake for much longer, yet the comforting presence of Aerith was a welcome relief amongst so many strange sensations. She was as familiar to him as the newly forged link between him and Squall and he sensed her soul as if hearing a song from childhood. 

He was asleep within moments and Edea left Aerith by his side, returning to the gathered crowed outside to see Seifer hovering at its edge, his face strained with worry and anticipation radiating from him as he tried to peer around her into the tent. 

“Is it true?” He asked her, straightening his shoulders a little as she levelled him with a stare. “You found a way to save him?”

Edea nodded. “We have the Midgarian to thank for Squall’s life. He offered his soul to the Lifestream and bound himself to Squall.”

Seifer’s eyes widened and he stared at his Matron, disbelieving. A ripple passed through the crowed and murmurs of shock and surprise soon followed.

“He became Guardian?”

“Would you rather have watched him die?” Edea snapped back, aware that their audience was watching them closely. Her words here and now would carry across the village, and she would have everyone understand the terrible decision she had faced and the difficult choice she had made. 

“No, of course not, but I-”

“Save your judgement. Squall is alive and that is all that matters. Where is Ellone?”

Seifer was chastised. He lowered his gaze and respectfully nodded his head. Pointing away into the forest, out west where the waterfalls fell, he gave his kinswoman up to their leader. 

“She’s been gone since you left. Not even Adel can persuade her to come back.”

“Keep watch over the Healing Home. Let no one else inside. I’ll return shortly.” Edea moved off down the hill, the crowd parting for her as she passed and Seifer watched her go, before he took up his position at the entrance to the tent and waited for the crowd to disperse. 

*******

Edea found her by the crashing falls, sat amongst the rocks at the water’s edge. It had been Ellone and Squall’s favourite place as children, and it was no surprise to see her there now, legs curled up under her chin as she sat and watched the churning waters, her sloping shoulders and pointed profile so much like Squall’s it filled Edea’s heart with both pain and pride to see it. She stood by the shallow lapping water’s edge for a while and waited for Ellone to speak.

“I didn’t feel like him.” The young girl said eventually, her back still turned to her Matron.

Edea sighed and felt the residual ripples of pain and anger, and tried to soothe them with her infinite patience. 

“The twin bond was broken when Griever was killed. He will always feel different to you now. But he is your brother, Ellone.”

“You told me he was dead.”

“I thought that he was,” Edea stepped onto the rocks and drew closer, daring to crouch down next to her sullen child. “But the same dream I had of you and your prophesy also brought me hope of Squall. I sent out trackers to look for him. They came across the travellers from Midgar and brought them back.”

Ellone was silent for a long while, thinking over Edea’s words with mixed and warring emotions, until eventually she dropped her arms from around her legs and turned to the side, looking up at her foster mother from under a guarded stare. 

“But he will never be the same as he was.” Her voice was small and hurt, so much loss and sorrow in her words that Edea was reminded of the child she still was and she reached up a hand to smooth back the short hair around her face. 

“No,” she agreed “he will not. He can never be as he was before he left us. And neither can you. What has happened has changed you both, but he is still your brother.”

Edea watched as tears began to fill Ellone’s lash line and with a wet sniff Ellone rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand.

“You’ve brought him back only for me to lose him again. I don’t want to watch him die; I can’t.”

Edea reached out and drew Ellone into an embrace, letting the small tremors that shook her shoulders ease some of the terrible grief that held her prisoner in so much resentment. 

“Have faith in me child. Would I force you to suffer the pain of his passing twice?” Edea asked with a small smile.

Ellone pulled away, wiping at her eyes as she looked up at her Matron and frowned with frustrated curiosity. “What are you saying?”

“The Lifestream has granted Squall a new Guardian. He lives, and he is waiting for you.”

Ellone pulled further away, her face contorted with confusion and the slightest shades of hope and she wiped at the last of her tears with the heal of her hand.

“H… but… how can that be?”

“The Midgarian he travelled with offered his soul in return for that of a Guardian’s. He took Squall through the Lifespring and were bonded together.”

Ellone’s eyes narrowed and her mouth fell open in a wordless gasp as she scooted away, and in the blink of an eye she had stood to her feet and was glaring down at Edea with fire in her gaze.

“The human?” She snarled, hands balling into fists at her side. “You let the human become Guardian?”

“I had to.” Edea replied firmly, rising to her feet to meet Ellone’s eyes. “There was no other way to save Squall’s life.”

“But he’s human,” Ellone spat again, her face contorting as if the word tasted bad. “That Midgarian is the reason Squall was taken from us in the first place. He’s the reason Griever was killed. You would disgrace Squall by bonding him to that thing? It’s disgusting!”

“Be careful, Ellone. You speak of what you do not understand. That Midgarian was the one who brought him back to us.” Edea was quickly losing her temper. With a calming breath she soothed her own rage and felt the prickles of Ellone’s boiling just underneath it.

“His people are the reason he was taken from us. You’ve made him an outcast: a freak! A Guardian can only come from the Lifestream. Their forms are chosen for a reason, you know this. How can you dishonour Squall like that?”

“I have saved his life!” Edea shouted, her words carrying across the silence that followed with only the sound of the crashing falls to fill it. “Cloud has saved his life. You will think on that before you talk of dishonour.”

Ellone looked away into the forest, her jaw set hard against the furious words that wanted to come spilling out and her arms and shoulders were rigid with holding it all in. She had never warred with her Matron like this before, and Edea was aware of that fact. It was unlike her, and the very real and corrosive effect of her grief was suddenly all too obvious. 

Edea calmed herself immediately, chastising herself for letting her temper fray, and she quickly reminded herself that this was her child; her child who was wounded and scared and so very angry. 

“You are grieving the loss of your twin bond. There is no denying how much that pains you. But do not let it blind you to what has been given back to you.” Edea’s words were softer now and she moved closer, though Ellone still refused to look at her. “Squall is alive, and when he awakens he will want to see his family. Will you deny him that reunion?”

Ellone would not answer her. She stared hard and unforgiving into the forest, her lips clamped shut against the terrible things she wanted to scream; the pain she felt and the blame she wanted to place at so many people’s feet. 

“I know you still love him, Ellone. How can you be so full of grief if you did not? I believe the only reason he held on for so long after Griever was slain was the hope that he would somehow make it back. He was holding on for you.” Edea almost faltered as she watched Ellone’s face crumble, her beautiful features dissolving into unbridled anguish and as she reached out to console her, Ellone took a step back, still too full of misery to accept her comfort.

“I cannot make you return to the village, but I know that when he wakes, Squall will want to see you. After everything he’s been through, does he not deserve this much?” Edea did not expect Ellone to answer and she did not press her. Instead she left her, standing on the rocks amongst the sound of the tumbling water and let the noise envelope her weeping. 

Alone in the forest, taking her time to return to her people, Edea allowed herself a few moments to cry also. Tears of relief and heartache and anguish, and by the time she had made it back to Winhill, her face was dry and her ragged emotions smoothed under her immaculate control. 

*******

Cloud was sat outside the Healing Home soaking up the first morning light when he felt it. He’d finished his breakfast, and was tentatively testing the reach of his senses, stretching them out to see what he could pick up; curious to know what he could recognise and process. Every new life form he felt was a marvel to him, and many times he’d stopped to focus on the feeling of a tree pushing its roots deeper into rich soil, or listen to the shrill cries of hatching birds. And if he concentrated, he could pin point them all in his mind and know with absolute surety that if he walked eight miles east, he would come across the jaybird’s nest.

He was testing the waters from a set of falls not far from the village when he felt the stirring of a presence close to where he was sat, and with a jolt he opened his eyes. He felt Squall shifting, his dormant life-force beginning to flex and press against his own, and with his heartbeat suddenly in his throat, Cloud sprang to his feet and hurried into the tent. 

It was empty save for Squall, who was still laid where he had been put the day before, and Cloud carefully knelt beside him, folding his legs underneath him as he leaned over and watched Squall’s face closely. The smallest, almost imperceptible twitching of his eyebrows made Cloud’s heart stop, and gradually, as eyelashes fluttered and lips parted, Squall let out a gentle groan. Cloud placed a hand to his cheek and softly coaxed at the awakening presence in his mind. 

“Squall?” He called quietly, surprised when the young man twitched in his direction, as if searching for his voice. He called again and felt his heart flutter as Squall’s soul reached out to his own, and responded to him as if stretching out a hand. “Squall?” He called again, this time louder, and he couldn’t help the faint smile that pulled at his lips as Squall’s eyes finally fluttered open to reveal silvery grey orbs, bright and clear and looking directly at him. He felt the link between them being tested; Squall’s confusion and disorientation pulling at it as he tried to focus and place himself, before a voice spoke so clearly in Cloud’s mind, he flinched and let go of Squall’s cheek.

'…Cloud?'

Heart pounding, and breath caught in his throat, Cloud licked his lips and nodded his head, before he tentatively replied, unsure if he would be heard.

'It’s me.' He said, his trembling emotions rippling off of him. He could feel them soaking into the link between them, bouncing off Squall as he struggled to cling to him, desperate to ground himself using Cloud as his anchor, and he tried to calm himself, sending out a gentle pulse of reassurance as he spoke again, placing his hand back against the side of Squall’s face. 

'You’re safe, don’t worry. I’m right here.'

He felt some of Squall’s anxiety leave him and he waited a few moments as he shut his eyes and tried to clear the confusion from his mind.

'Where am I?' Squall asked blinking his eyes quickly and glanced around, taking in his surroundings. Cloud could almost feel the effort it took his mind to slowly draw the pieces together, everything slow and sluggish and hampered by dark spaces in his memories. 

'Balamb. I brought you home, remember?' The smallest flicker of worry began to gnaw at Cloud’s mind and it grew as Squall shook his head. 

'How… how am I hearing you in my head?'

'A lot has happened since we left Avalanche. I don’t know if I can explain…' Cloud was growing worried now. The fog that had invaded his own mind as he’d awoken from the Lifestream had lifted within moments, yet Squall seemed to be struggling to piece his thoughts together, and the dark patches of nothing deep within his mind was a shadow reflected in Cloud’s. 'What do you remember?'

He felt Squall searching, nudging at the indistinct shapes and shades in his thoughts as he looked for the last memory that made sense. With a frightened shiver, he squeezed his eyes shut and let out an aborted gasp.

'Ansem…'

“It’s alright.” Cloud spoke aloud, Squall’s fear echoing loudly in his mind alarming him. “You’re safe, remember?”

The sound of Squall’s voice was not as clear as it was in his head, but Cloud’s heart still skipped a beat to hear it despite the implications of his words.

“I… I don’t… I don’t remember…”

Cloud tried to soothe him, unsure if his tentative grasp of their bond was working as it should and he was startled out of his ministrations by a shadow falling across them both. He looked up to see Edea stood there, her eyes expressionless as she looked down at them. Gracefully she folded her legs beneath her and crouched, placing a hand to Squall’s forehead.

“Welcome back to us.” She said softly, her voice pulling Squall from his thoughts. His eyes flickered open and widened and after a few moments of initial confusion he gasped and lifted a hand to cover Edea’s.

“Matron?” He croaked, waves of relief and joy tumbling from him as he gripped her hand. 

Edea smiled and nodded, opening her arms for him as he tried to sit up and she pulled him into a strong embrace, holding him close to her chest as he wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders. 

“I’ve missed you, boy.” Edea whispered into his hair, rubbing soothing circles against his back as Cloud sat and watched. The love and affection between them was mesmerising, and he drank it in greedily. He could feel Squall’s tremors even though he was not touching him, and he felt the joyous elation turn to confused and bitter tears. He understood it all. Without needing an explanation he instinctively knew the cause of Squall’s distress. After so long apart from his family, and so long fearing for his life, he had finally made it home and his guilt was almost as strong as Cloud’s.

He heard Squall’s words in his head and out loud, but he was speaking to Edea in that beautiful lilting language and he could only understand the impression of them. The thoughts and shapes in his mind conveyed a simple meaning, and he could only follow so much of what Squall was saying. 

Regardless, Edea’s response seemed to soothe him. He felt Squall’s fractious emotions calm until he was quiet once again and with a little help from Edea he settled back down against the furs and wiped at his reddened eyes. 

'Squall?' Cloud asked if he was alright, and as Squall turned his tired, puffy eyes on him a chink of something slipped through Squall’s confusion.

“You’re in my head.” He said, brows creasing. 

Cloud glanced up at Edea, the worry evident on his face as he wondered without saying the words how he should explain, and he felt the chink of realisation widen, until the truth of their bond washed over Squall and he recognised the life-force that was between them – tethering them to each other – for what it was. It was the same as it had been with Griever and Squall suddenly realised he could once again feel the earth around him, and the Longing that had pained him for so many months was finally gone. 

“You… You’re Guardian.” Squall breathed, pushing himself up onto his hands to stare at Cloud with wide eyes. “You’re my Guardian.”

Cloud nodded, breathing out slowly as he felt no disgust or anger in Squall’s emotions, just awe and shock, and he tried to smile reassuringly. 

“It was the only way to bring you back.”

“But… how can that be? It… it shouldn’t be possible.” Squall shook his head, reaching out for the bond between them to test it, almost afraid that it was a figment of his imagination and that it would evaporate under his gentle prodding. 

“Cloud has sacrificed a great deal to return you to your family.” Edea told him, the word triggering something else to flash behind Squall’s wide eyes.

“My family…” he said, looking to Edea as the pieces finally fit together. “Where is Ellone?”

Edea's soft smile faltered and her expression became troubled. With a quiet sigh she looked down at the folded hands in her lap and struggled to find the words to explain.

"Ellone is troubled greatly by your return. She suffers with the death of your twin bond. She feels as though she does not know you."

"She... she does not want to see me?" Squall asked, brows creasing with confusion and vague hurt. Cloud felt the prickling of it just under his skin and he patiently waited for Edea to explain further. 

"She is afraid," Edea said, the pain clear in her eyes as she looked up at Squall and met his wounded stare. "Of what you have become, of losing the bond you shared before."

"Of what I have become?" Squall asked, anger creeping into his tone.

"Joining with Cloud, it has upset her greatly. As it will for others. You know how many feel about the humans of Midgar."

"But, Cloud... he's not..." Squall was struggling to process Edea's words. 

"Are you saying there are some that would rather Squall have died than be joined with me?" Cloud asked, irrational anger beginning to coil in his chest at the thought. 

"There are some that feel this way, yes. But you must understand, our people have been holding back the tide of Midgar's wrath and hate for centuries. They distrust all humans, and with good cause. You cannot expect them to accept you so willingly."

Cloud was about to open his mouth to reply when he felt a sudden jolt of pain and anger spike through him, and he looked to Squall who was sat so still and quiet, and felt the tension crackle around him.

'Squall, are you alright?' He asked.

'She is my sister – my twin – the only blood-kin I have left. I cannot believe she does not want to see me.'

"Where is she?" Cloud asked, looking back to Edea.

"Out amongst the hills, where the waterfalls meet. But I would not go to find her. She must return of her own accord. You cannot force her if she is not ready."

"Will you try to talk to her again?" Squall asked, his jaw clenching slightly. Edea shook her head.

"She must come to a decision on her own. I have done all I can."

Cloud felt the bitterness swirl within Squall as they both watched Edea climb to her feet and he desperately wanted to reach out and comfort him.

"I will leave you now. Get some rest, if you can. There will be time for reunions later."

They watched Edea leave and then sat in silence for a long time. Eventually, Cloud could stand it no longer. Placing a hand to Squall's shoulder he nudged his Gaian out of his private thoughts. 'I'm sorry, Squall.' He said, fearing that somehow Squall might blame him. 'If I had known...'

'Would you have acted any differently?' Squall asked him, lifting his chin to stare at Cloud, his eyes pained and glassy. 'Would you have let me die?'

'No.' Cloud replied, shaking his head. 

'Then do not be sorry.' Squall told him, looking away again, his thoughts swirling too quickly and chaotically for Cloud to keep up with. Eventually, he felt Squall sigh, all the pain and anguish sapping his body of strength as his shoulders slumped, and unexpectedly he spoke, his words catching Cloud by surprise.

"Why didn't you?"

"Why didn't I what?" Cloud asked, brows furrowing in confusion.

"Why didn't you let me die?"

Cloud felt his throat tighten and a nervous flutter steal into his chest. Slowly, he gathered his thoughts and swallowed past the hard lump in his throat.

"I... I couldn't, not after Zack." A fleeting image of his friend flickered in Cloud's mind and Squall caught the briefest of visions; of a darkened, shadowed room and the smell of blood and fear; of a gilt knife and blind anger. Cloud had lost someone and it pained him more than could be understood. So many layers of guilt and hate made everything hazy, but Squall was certain Cloud was hiding something still. Something that perhaps he did not want to face.

"That is not all of it." Squall said with confidence. "Remember, you cannot lie to me any more."

Cloud sighed and closed his eyes, the feeling of Squall's gentle persuasion pushing at the edges of his mind. Cloud was surprised to feel no resentment for it. The idea of having someone else – anyone else – inside his head, pushing him to reveal deep and personal fears should have filled him with horror, yet the touch of Squall's presence was a comforting thing and Cloud relented to it.

"That day, before Ansem came... when I... when I kissed you. What you told me... you were right. I have been afraid of what I am all my life. Afraid to trust anyone, in case they sensed it in me. But you..." Cloud stopped, his next words waiting to be spilled and he fought with the deeply ingrained fear to explain the things that had haunted him since childhood."I shouldn’t have gotten so close to you, but... you saw me... for what I was, and you didn't turn away from me. I can't explain it. I don't know how, but this thing that's inside of me... I'm terrified of it. You called me your enemy, but I never was, Squall. Not then, and not now."

"You gave up your soul to prove to me you were not my enemy?" Squall asked, remembering his words and Cloud's terrified reaction. How cold he had been towards Cloud’s affections despite the comfort Cloud had given him. He recalled how afraid he'd been. He hadn't the strength to accept what Cloud had offered him then; there had been so many more things on his mind. So he had pushed him away with the only thing that could have put distance between them. Had he known how much it would have affected Cloud, he would never have said it.

"My soul was payment. For what you gave to me." The corner of Cloud's mouth twitched upwards in a small smile and he glanced at Squall fleetingly.

"What I gave you?"

"The courage to face myself." Cloud replied simply with a small nod. "It cost me Zack's life. It nearly cost me yours. I won't make that mistake again."

And suddenly the reasons for Cloud’s guilt and the self hatred became clear. In hiding his true self, Cloud had lied to the very people he'd called friends. He'd even lied to himself. Zack had died trying to confront those lies and Cloud carried the burden of that with him every time he looked at Squall and his suppressed feelings emerged. It was a terrible and lonely place to be, and Squall – who had never been able to stand the suffering of anything – wanted only to help heal it. He was after all the cause of Cloud’s emerging feelings and he could not deny the importance of Cloud in his own life. 

"You're too hard on yourself." Squall said, reaching out to cup Cloud's cheek and tilt his face towards him; Cloud's vulnerable gaze taking in Squall's gentle smile. Slowly, he pressed his lips against Cloud’s warm mouth and returned the kiss he should have accepted all those weeks ago at Avalanche.

Startled, his lashes flickering, Cloud pulled away a fraction, watching Squall's face closely before he felt a wave of comfort wash over him; a gentle reassurance to let go, and Cloud slowly let his eyes close, giving Squall silent permission to kiss him again, and he heard the soft whisper of the Gaian's voice in his head. 'You were not the only one who was comforted by our time together.' 

Cloud felt Squall deepen the kiss, and then a fleeting sequence of images began to dance behind his eyes: Cloud freeing Squall from his chains: their sombre conversation by the fireside as Squall had revealed his true name: their long talks of Squall’s homeland and kin that had stretched on into the night. And then broken and incomplete memories of Cloud's presence as Squall had laid in the cells beneath Avalanche, tortured and broken from Ansem's magic. 

'Without you I would have faded so much sooner.' Squall whispered in his mind, his soft lips comforting Cloud as he let him in, the feeling of a moist tongue against his own making Cloud shiver. 

When had he realised he felt this way towards Squall, he couldn't say. Perhaps it had been the day the Gaian had read the lines on his palms and told him of the great things he was destined to do; of the goodness that was in him. Perhaps it had always been there, from the very first moment he had set eyes on him in that Great Hall. Maybe it had only begun to make sense as they’d fled together over the mountains, and keeping his promise had become soul consuming. All that Cloud knew was now it was undeniable. The part of him that he had kept hidden for so long and had denied even existed had been given life, and it belonged entirely to Squall.

Cloud framed Squall’s face with his hands, threading his fingers into the soft strands of hair at his temples and finally allowed himself to feel everything the Gaian had awoken in him. It spread along the bond between them and he felt Squall open up to it, accepting it with an eagerness that surprised Cloud, and they parted with a breathy gasp. Resting his forehead against Squall’s, eyes still closed and still captivated by the shared emotion, he sent a troubled thought across to Squall.

'I am sorry about your sister. You never told me about her.'

'It was the only way to keep her safe. I feared they would want her too. Her Guardian is the other half of Griever.'

'Is that why she’s angry, because that bond is now destroyed?' Cloud felt some of his own anger diminished with the thought.

'Twin Gaian’s are rare. They share a bond that is unique – that no other Gaian can share with another. It is almost like the bond between a Gaian and a Guardian. She will have felt something similar to the Longing when Griever died and I was presumed lost.'

'Then perhaps I can understand why she mourns.'

'You understand the Longing?' Squall asked, pulling away slightly and opened his eyes. He was still so close to Cloud, he could see the iridescent glow of the Lifestream around his pupils.

'I felt it for a short time, before I was bonded to you. I could not have borne it for as long as you did.'

Squall was silent in his mind for a long time, only emotions swirly deeply in his heart. 'It is something I hope I never have to feel again.'

Cloud felt the weight of that thought so keenly, it doused the fluttering beat of his heart, and Edea’s words came back to him. ‘You will be bound to him forever – compelled to protect him from whatever threatens him…’ Squall’s life was now his to protect. If Squall ever felt the terrible Longing that had pained him those long months at Avalanche, then it would mean Cloud had failed, and Cloud would never allow that to happen. 

'I’m tired.' He heard Squall speak in his mind, and pushing aside his own thoughts, he felt the truth of Squall’s words for himself. He was exhausted, and Cloud had been selfishly keeping him from rest.

'You should sleep then.' He said with a smile, letting go of Squall’s face.

'Stay with me?' Squall asked him, catching Cloud’s fingers in his hand as he moved away. Cloud was balanced on his heels, and he stared at Squall with wide eyes for a moment before he slowly nodded and allowed his Gaian to pull him down next to him. 

Carefully he arranged himself against the soft furs and with a swiftly beating heart he watched as Squall settled into his side, resting his head against his chest as he curled an arm around his waist, and was asleep within moments.


	19. Chapter 19

The frozen remains of Captain Bannock rested across the charred table amongst the singed remains of the council tent. His body and his leather armour were stiff and solid, his limbs clutched tightly to his chest and brittle with blue frost, and his bearded face was grey and waxen; eye sockets sunken and bruised, his purple lips pulled back across rotted teeth in a grotesque snarl. His death throws captured forever like a statue formed of marble. 

"And why have you brought this..." Genesis raised an eyebrow, "thing here? What interest is Bannock to me?"

"We found him five miles yonder." The scout supplied, pointing through the tatty remains of the tent wall to the patch of snow covered hills that led south towards Avalanche. "Him and three other men. Frozen solid they were. Looked like an ambush."

"I sent you to look for the General. Not to bring back bodies of incompetent captains." Genesis snarled, the pain in his shoulder making his temper shorter than it normally would be. 

"Forgive me, my Lord. Thought you might be concerned."

And Genesis was concerned. With Angeal dead and Bannock too, not to mention his own assassination attempt, his fear for Sephiroth grew. He pulled his leather coat further round his bandaged shoulder, lifting the awkward limb in its makeshift sling and set his gaze on the infantryman. 

"Did you find anything?" He asked slowly, carefully. "Anything important?" He added, ignoring the frozen body on the table. 

"I sent two men ahead towards the King's Road to look for any sign of the General. They should be returning shortly, my Lord." 

The sharp cry of a startled horse shot up into the grey afternoon followed by the sound of a horn, blown short and sharp and only once. Genesis and the scout looked up from the corpse, ears lifting to the sound of rangers returning and then the feel of a steady vibration that trembled through the ground in an ominous rhythm. Tearing the side of the tent out of his way, Genesis walked through the tattered material and raised his gloved hand to shield his eyes against the snow glare. The horse whined again and the ground continued to tremble. 

Genesis would know that feeling anywhere: the tremors that came in the wake of an army. Thousands upon thousands of feet moving in unison, shaking the very earth beneath them as they marched, bringing swords and shields and horses, pikes, trebuchet and battering rams. They were well equipped here with such things, and Genesis frowned as he stared off into the distance, over the tops of the tents and through the wispy columns of smoke on the wind. He waited for the sound to draw nearer, and caught the bright gleam of muted sunlight bouncing off of metal helmets. They moved like a swarming wave, stepping in regiment along the winding in-road that had been made by the First and Second as they’d made camp months ago; the endless columns of men stretching far back, and at its front, a tall man sat atop a grit and mud stained horse. Sephiroth, hair tangled in the wind, curling like a whip, and gleaming like steal. He stopped once he was inside the perimeter, turning his horse in a circle to take in the sight of his camp and as a stable hand came to his side and took the horse by the bit, Sephiroth threw one long leg over the beast and hopped down. 

Genesis wove through the tents in long strides, losing sight of the General once or twice as he hurried through ditches and up over the final small crest, and stopped at the edge of the clearing, next to a campfire and watched as Sephiroth turned to glance at him; his heart beating wildly in his chest as those green eyes settled on him momentarily and then moved off, as if not recognising him. 

Sephiroth removed his gloves, his face impassive and cold as ever yet Genesis felt a slither of warning lance up his spine. 

“My Lord General, you’ve finally returned.”

Sephiroth glanced at him again, those impenetrable green eyes slicing through him with such precision Genesis felt his balls tighten a fraction. 

“I had business with the King’s Council. He has called the Barons. Much has changed at Avalanche.” Sephiroth moved towards him, his gait long and fluid despite his many days in the saddle, and his momentum carried on, past Genesis who stepped aside to let him pass.

“And what of Corel? Did you make it there?” Genesis asked quickly catching up with his lover. 

“I did.” Sephiroth nodded, no twitch or flutter in his face to give away what he’d learned. 

“You’ve heard of Angeal? Of what became of him?” Genesis could take his cold indifference no longer and reached out to grasp at the sleeve of Sephiroth’s long leather coat.

The General stopped and glared across at Genesis, his eyes thrown wide for a moment in surprise and the captain startled for a second as he caught a glimpse of cat like pupils.

“Remove your hand from me.” Sephiroth warned him.

Like he had been scorched with fire, Genesis let go, frowning in confusion as he stared at Sephiroth’s face. It was as beautiful and familiar as ever, yet nothing could take away the air of strangeness and ill feeling when he looked into Sephiroth’s eyes, and with a thin voice, Genesis spoke. 

“You saw him?”

Sephiroth frowned, his eyes looking lost and misted for a moment as he stared hard at the ground and with a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, he pierced Genesis with his gaze once again. 

“I did. He had been killed by an assassin. Tsung holds Corel now. The King demanded I take the Third and Fifth, and await his orders on the front line. We are to move soon.” There was so much dispassion in his voice – so much apathy – that Genesis wondered if it was really his. Even in his most stoic of moments, Sephiroth had never sounded like that. 

“And what of Angeal!” Genesis insisted daring to grab the General’s coat again.

“What of him?” Sephiroth asked again in that terrifying voice. “He is dead, captain Rhapsodos. He cannot be helped.” 

“Who killed him?” Genesis hissed stepping closer. “The same assassin that killed him tried to kill me. Who was it?”

“Nobody knows.” Sephiroth replied, breaking his arm away from Genesis’ hold and forcing him back a few steps. “There are many theories at court, but while we and the other captains remain alive, that is all they will ever be.”

“Bannock is dead.” Genesis supplied, fighting the spring of fear that had blossomed to life within his chest. 

“When?” Sephiroth asked, his glare becoming sharp as he lowered his brows. 

“It’s difficult to tell. He was found out by the King’s Road, a mile to the north where the boarder forests come down from the mountains. His body is frozen solid. He could have been there for days.” 

“Take me to him.” Sephiroth growled, turning back towards camp. Genesis hurried after him, taking him back through the maze of soldiers towards the tattered remains of the fire scorched council tent. Once inside, the infantryman mercifully departed, both General and Captain stood looking down at the hideous corpse. 

“Bannock was sent to bring back Lord Strife.” Sephiroth said after a few moments of silence. 

“Why? What has Cloud to do with all of this?” Genesis inquired, his voice tight and breathy.

“He has escaped with the Gaian prisoner and is responsible for the death of the Crowned Prince. There are some who say he is responsible for the death of Captain Hewley also. Bannock was found five miles north of here?” Sephiroth asked, cocking his head up slightly to capture Genesis’ eye. 

“He was.” The captain nodded swallowing thickly. 

“Then you may well have let a very dangerous man slip past your nets.” 

“How was I to know of Lord Strife?” Genesis barked, his heart clattering against his ribcage as Sephiroth’s stare bore through him. A dangerous undercurrent tugging at the edges of his words. 

“He will have been looking for a way to cross the mountains. He intends to return the Gaian to his homeland.” Sephiroth said, ignoring his captain’s excuses. “He will have headed for Nibelheim.”

“How do you know this?” Genesis asked in a breathy whisper as Sephiroth looked back at the frostbitten corpse. 

“They will have needed help.” Sephiroth said, stepping towards what remained of the entrance and pulled the tattered flaps from out of the wind. Far across the planes and the endless rows of tents, stood a curved mountain side, it’s lower peaks stretching skywards, tall and sharp, like jagged teeth against a mottled, clouded sky. And beyond it, nestled in the bow of its protective curve, sat the town of Nibelheim, it’s own cook fires and chimneys smoking industriously. “Someone knows where they went.”

“Sephiroth… what has happened?” Genesis asked, coming to stand at his shoulder, afraid to reach out a hand and touch it. Beyond his lover he could see the rising mountains and the tiny village at its base, and he shivered against a cold wind that gusted inland from the east. 

“Gather five hundred men and have them assemble at the north east gate. You will accompany me into Nibelheim.” Sephiroth said, letting the tent flap fall back into pace, fluttering gently on the breeze. 

Genesis looked at his profile and felt his mouth turn dry with dread. 

“Yes, my Lord General.” He replied, inclining his head ever so slightly in a shallow bow and then left. 

*******

Cloud became aware of a darkness enveloping his dream. The light and quality of the flickering images began to change, and the beautiful blue sea he had been soaring across began to fade from view and all that surrounded him was blackness. It moved like a fog, obscuring everything, and its presence was thick and cloying. Cloud was no longer moving but suspended in weightless motion. 

Slowly he began to suffocate, a terrible pain in his head boomed behind his temples and the feeling of tearing deep in his mind made him grit his teeth until his jaw ached. Raising his fists to his hair, Cloud let out a long moan of agony and in a flash of lightning he was awake, his eyes flying open to reveal bright sunlight. The feeling of drowning was gone in an instant. The pain was vanished too, and with a gasp, Cloud rolled onto his elbow, nudging the body laid by his side. 

Cloud looked down at Squall still sleeping, his head rested against his arm as he sweated and let out a small moan, his brows creasing in pain. Afraid that the strange fever was back, Cloud lifted a hand to his brow and almost sighed when he felt it was warm and damp. No chill touched his skin, yet he was troubled all the same. With a quick shake of his shoulder, Cloud roused Squall from his sleep; a breathy sigh of relief leaving his lips as Squall’s eyes fluttered open. 

Squall gasped and tensed, rolling away to give himself space to sit up and rub at his sleep misted eyes. When he had grounded himself, and the rhythm of his heart had returned to normal, he looked at Cloud with a troubled frown.

“I was dreaming.” He said.

“I… I think I saw it, in my head. But then I woke up and...”

“It’s common for Guardians to share their Gaian’s dreams. Its part of the bond.” Squall explained, rubbing at his stiff neck. “But only so long as you’re sleeping. The moment you wake, it’s broken.”

“What were you dreaming of?” Cloud asked, remembering the feeling of suffocation and pain; of tearing and smothering fog. 

Squall was silent, only the quivering of his shoulders giving him away as Cloud prodded at the connection between them.

'Ansem’s power… it… that’s how it felt… when he was in my head…'

Cloud shuddered and felt the feeling ripple out across the bond, echoed in Squall’s body as his tremors worsened. 

'It’s alright,' Cloud replied, shuffling closer to wrap an arm around Squall’s shoulders. 'He’s gone.'

'And he took my memories with him.' Squall replied, feeling anger and bitterness well up in him like a storm. 'There are so many things I don’t remember…'

Cloud could feel the desperateness of Squall’s thoughts, the utter frustration as his mind touched over blank, empty spaces in his memories, walls of confusion and helplessness as he searched for things that were not there. Cloud pressed a kiss to Squall’s temple, sending out soft waves of comfort as the shiver’s finally ceased. 

“Leon! You’re awake.” A voice came from the doorway of the Healing Home and both men looked up to see a woman stood framed by late afternoon light.

“Aerith!” Squall smiled, his mood instantly lightening upon seeing her. Cloud relaxed and let go of Squall’s shoulder, scooting away a little as Aerith came to sit beside them and enveloped the Gaian in a hug. “What are you doing here?” Squall asked with breathy curiosity.

“You didn’t expect me to leave Cloud all on his own, did you?” Aerith pulled away, a bright gleam of mirth dancing in her eyes as she looked him over. “You’d both be dead by now!”

Squall startled her by placing a gentle hand to her cheek, his expression turning soft and pained.

“I’m sorry, about Zack...” he said, his words dwindling as he watched her expression change. And with a small hitch that caught in the back of her throat, Aerith drew in a steadying breath. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Squall,” she said, covering his fingers with her own. She patted them and pulled his hand away, cradling it gently in her own. “None of this is.” 

But still, Squall was touched by her grief, which was so close to the surface he could almost reach out and grasp it, and he leaned forwards and pressed his forehead against hers, sharing and consoling in her pain.

Their tender moment was broken as Edea swept into the tent, her long shadow falling over all of them as her bird shook its feathers and stretched out its wings, settling itself on her shoulder as she straightened.

“I would speak with Squall alone.” She said, her youthful face relaxed and impassive. 

Cloud and Aerith stood, a soft whisper goodbye as Cloud told him he would be back soon and he followed the young girl out into the early evening and drifted towards a small cook fire beside the tent. Sitting down beside the flames they ate what was offered to them, letting the warm rays of sunlight turn pink and golden and the sounds of the forest around them turn to the dusky croaks of crickets, and the chirrup of nighttime animals. 

“Forgive me.” Aerith eventually spoke, her voice soft and airy. She put her hand over his, resting it on his knee and turned to study his profile set in beautiful shades of shadows. “I thought you’d done this because of Zack, to make up for what happened. And maybe that’s still a part of it, but it’s not all.” Aerith squeezed his hand and felt him squeeze back. “You love him.” 

It was not a question and Cloud felt his throat tighten. He felt the word echo in his mind and he tried to measure its meaning against what he felt. There had never been much love in Cloud’s life. Despised by his father, ignored by court, and tolerated by most of his peers, there had never been anyone to love Cloud. Only Aerith and Zack had offered him anything close. None of his memories gave him what he searched for and he knew that whatever it was he felt for Squall, it could never be compared to anything he’d ever felt for anyone else. When there was thought and compassion without speaking, and understanding without the need for a voice; when there was a bond that bridged even the most fathomless of distances and touched the very soul, how could such a simple word hold such immeasurable meaning? The word love was not big enough.

“Yes, I love him.” Cloud replied, his voice a little shaky. “Are you ashamed of me?” Cloud could not bring himself to look Aerith in the eye but he felt her sharp release of breath. 

“Ashamed of you?” She gasped. “Cloud I have never been ashamed of you. You’re my friend.” She reached out and touched her fingertips to his chin, pulling him round to look at her. His large blue eyes, shot through with green, were lowered and with a gentle tap of her fingers they looked up and met her steady gaze. “No matter what, I will always be your friend.”

Cloud found it difficult to swallow for a moment, his eyes becoming hot and itchy as everything shimmered, before the knot in his throat loosened and he let out a slow and steady breath. 

“I’m sorry… for what I said about Zack...” He croaked, fighting to keep his voice steady.

“You were right.” Aerith interrupted him. She shifted her hand and placed it against the spot where she had struck him and felt shame and regret as she remembered their argument. “I would not have done any less if it had been Zack. I would have done anything to save him.” She smiled sadly.

“So would I.” Cloud said feeling the agony of grief sting at him again, only to be absorbed and the pain lessened as Cloud felt Squall touch the edge of his mind. It wasn’t a conscious effort on his Gaian’s part. The comfort came more like an afterthought; a lingering presence that constantly soothed and calmed, and Cloud had to close his eyes against the relief. 

'How do you do that?' He asked, faint amusement traveling through their link.

'I will always be able to tell when you are hurting. I’m your Gaian, it’s my responsibility to ensure your well being.' Cloud felt Squall reply, almost matter of fact. Cloud was silenced as the answer sobered him.

'You’re surprised?'

'No, just…' Cloud hesitated, his feelings coming to him so much easier and clearer now than they ever had done. 'Just not used to it…'

Cloud felt the faintest, softest ripple of affection, and with a warm pulse of his own he responded in kind, tentatively returning Squall’s gentle feelings. 

'Matron has news. The other Tribes are coming. They will be arriving within the next few days. Edea has called a council to discuss the threat from Midgar and she wants us to be a part of it.' Squall said, a note of worry in the back of his mind. 

'What are you afraid of?' Cloud asked, picking up on it.

'Both you and I have important information. The time I spent at Avalanche will be valuable to them, except…'

'You’re worried you will not be able to remember something important. Something that Ansem might have taken away?' Cloud asked, knowing the answer. 

'What if I’ve forgotten something that could save my people?'

'The outcome of this war does not rest on your shoulder’s, Squall. Tell Edea we will be at this gathering. Your memories are not the only weapon we have.' Cloud felt the urgency of Squall’s mind leave him, yet the impression still remained, and with his own thoughts now cleared he opened his eyes to find Aerith looking at him with interest.

“You were speaking with him, weren’t you?” She asked incredulously. 

“It can be a little… disorientating.” Cloud admitted, cheeks heating.

Aerith shook her head, clearly awed and a little afraid as she searched her friends face and found it subtly changed. She couldn’t say exactly what it was, but he had changed.

“What is he saying?”

“Edea is gathering the neighboring tribes. There is going to be a council.”

Aerith was quiet for a long time, turning Cloud’s news over in her head.

“Do you think they’ll decide to go to war?” 

“They don’t have much choice.” Cloud replied remembering the sight of the First and Second camped outside of Nibelheim. Shinra would force Balamb’s hand, and as far as Cloud was concerned, all they should be discussing was where they would strike first. 

“If you join them, you’ll be fighting against your own people.” Aerith reminded him, unsure if Cloud had even entertained that thought. 

“They’re not my people, Aerith.” Cloud said, a little too sharply. He checked his tone and gave his friend an apologetic grimace. “Squall is my priority now. His people are my priority.”

“I understand, I just thought...”

“I know what you want from me, Aerith,” Cloud said, interrupting her. “But you’re asking too much. I’m never going back there.” Cloud’s tone was not unkind, but his words cut her deeply. With a shaky sigh she pushed back bitter tears and attempted a smile, nodding her head in resignation.

“Then you’d best make good on your promise and teach me how to use that sword.” Her smile did not reach her eyes, but it was all she could offer him at that moment. Cloud huffed a small chuckle and gazed out over the forest, and neglected to mention that he’d never actually made that promise. But he agreed none-the-less. 

“God help anyone who has to face Aerith Gainsborough with a sword.” He replied with a sly smile, and a soft punch to his arm.

*******

"Well, what do you think? Better than that pile of scrap you carry!" Seifer threw Cloud a sideways grin and threw his arms out in a wide open gesture, his large shoulders thrown back and chin lifted with a note of authority. The hut was dark and smoky like all Gaian dwellings were, its rounded walls daubed with cracked mud and its thatched roof tightly bound with a hole in the roof for ventilation, yet this one was noticeably bigger than average and on the walls hung various swords and knives, their elegantly curved blades shining and gleaming in the dim light. The sound of hammer on anvil thudded and rang in the background and the heat from the blacksmiths fire could be felt even in the back of his shop where his most brilliant and elegantly designed weapons were stored and displayed. The blacksmith himself had been a formidable man. Taller than Seifer and broader by almost half a foot. Cloud had managed to decipher his name was Rajin, but that had been all of the good natured chatter he'd been able to make out as the two Gaians had greeted each other. 

'What is he saying to me?' Cloud asked with a slight note of frustration. Squall's answer came back to him as clear as if he were stood next to him, faint amusement colouring his tone. 

'He wants to know if you have anything as impressive in Midgar.'

Squall had been accosted in the healing home first thing that morning by a flock of women, fluttering and babbling as they'd fussed over Squall and promptly kicked Cloud out, much to his chargin. Yet, Cloud had been strangely overjoyed when Edea had visited that morning and announced Squall fully recovered; the end of Squall's sickness marked the beginning of something new for the both of them, and Cloud felt their ominous future with a tentative hope.

The Guardian looked up at the big man and attempted to look humbled. He felt it might be uncharitable of him to mention the armouries in Midgar. Though less magnificent and beautiful in their designs, Midgar’s artillery was on an industrial scale and eclipsed the small hut and it's one blacksmith. Meekly, Cloud shook his head and watched Seifer's reaction. The big man smiled broadly and let out a short bark of laughter, clearly pleased with himself. 

"You’re a terrible liar."

'He says he knows your lying, but he likes you so it doesn't matter.'

'I was trying to be diplomatic.' Cloud replied, rubbing at the back of his head awkwardly. He let out a whoosh of air as Seifer clapped him soundly on the back and guided him away from the wall of weapons. Cloud followed him outside, wondering absently when his impromptu tour of the Gaian village would be over. Not that he was ungrateful to Seifer, only his tentative grasp of Gaian culture and language was making him feel awkward. Without Squall beside him he felt stupid and ignorant. 

They made a circular route back around the cluster of squat houses that served as the market; a dwelling for bread making and another for butchering; a group of women sat around a small smouldering fire chattering industriously as they separated grain from chaff, and eventually, their slow meandering brought them back to the gentle rise where the healing home sat, and with a nudge of his chin and a knowing smirk, Seifer left Cloud to find his way back. 

So far, Cloud had found little evidence of any hostility to his presence within the village, yet Edea had warned him it was there and he wondered how long it would be before he began to see signs of it in those curious stares. With a resigned sigh, Cloud made his way back to the healing home and quickly found himself in the midst of a sea of women. Immediately they stopped their talking and turned to stare at him, before erupting again into a renewed furore and descended on him, quickly pulling on his arms, dragging him into the centre of their chaotic gaggle. 

"What are you... hey... what are you doing?" Cloud cried, attempting to bat away grasping hands as they tugged at his shirt. An amused chuckle sounded in his head and Cloud looked up to see Squall through the crowd of women. He was smirking, arms folded as he watched his Guardian succumb to the relentless women, but the sight of Squall – dressed in soft, doe skin leggings, chest bare and painted with those curious blue markings and delicate symbols, charms and trinkets re-woven into his hair and tied to armbands around his biceps – stole Cloud's focus and for a moment he forgot about the women trying to unclothe him and he stood and gaped.

'You look...' He couldn't finish the thought. Squall had been returned to his beauty, and Cloud had to swallow hard. The touch of a hand against his bare skin brought him back to himself and he realised the women had near enough wrestled him out of his shirt. 

'What are they doing?' He asked alarmed. 

'You're Guardian now. They think you should at least look like one.' Squall grinned.

'What!?'

'Don't fight them, they'll get their way in the end. This way it'll be over quicker.'

Reluctantly, Cloud relented. He relaxed his arms and with an awkward nod he gave his consent and stood there red faced and mortified as the women stripped him. 

The water was cold as it was unceremoniously dunked over his head and he couldn't help but let out a cry of protest as they began to scrub his body; hands finding places they had no business venturing. But they worked quickly, and soon Cloud's humiliation was over. As the last bead was knotted into his hair, the women stepped away with clucks and nods of approval and Cloud stood awkwardly, feeling oddly more exposed than he'd ever done in his life. 

'Relax. You look good.' Squall said as he stepped closer. 

Cloud reflected Squall in almost every way: feet and chest bare, doe skin leggings and those oddly beautiful blue markings that mirrored his Gaian’s. Squall caught Cloud off guard and placed a quick reassuring kiss to his mouth and in a flash of heat, Cloud pulled away, his cheeks burning as he glanced nervously at the women who had averted their eyes. A faint ripple of disapproval echoed around the healing home and with a frown Squall straightened his shoulders and placed his hand against Cloud's cheek, lifting his chin to look at him.

'Ignore them.' He said indignantly, feeling Cloud's discomfort. 

'They don't approve of us.' Cloud replied, more hurt than he'd expected despite knowing it would happen.

'It’s... more complicated than that...' Squall let the thought linger, something else hovering on the edge of his mind before he cleared his thoughts and the sensation of apprehension left him. Cloud was about to question him, before the Gaian spoke again in his mind: 'Come on, lets go.' He nodded his head, a lazy smile on his face as he motioned for Cloud to follow him.

'Where are we going?'

'I've been cooped up for too long, I need to stretch my legs. I have something to show you.' Squall replied cryptically. 

Intrigued, Cloud followed and they stepped out into bright sunlight and a hazy heat that would slowly build as the day passed. At the foot of the small rise the village teamed with early morning work and several Gaian's turned to stare as Squall and Cloud emerged, curious to see the oddities some called a miracle and others called unnatural. Squall slowed and stopped, a frown creasing his features and he met those curious stares with a scowl and abruptly he changed direction, skirting along the bottom of the hill and cutting through a thick crop of trees. 

Without question, Cloud followed, understanding Squall's need for subtlety and stealth and they travelled west in silence through the forest until the sounds of Winhill faded and all that was left was the quiet buzz of insects and the hum of the earth as it turned. They walked for hours, steadily climbing out of the valley until the trees became less dense and the rocky ground and thick brush levelled out to became long waving grasses and soft, peaty earth. 

'Where are we going?' Cloud asked when he could no longer contain his curiosity. Squall stopped beneath the dappled shade and turned to Cloud, his stance relaxed and strong. There was nothing of the cowed and captured slave in him now; no invisible or material chains that bowed his shoulders and made him seem weak and humiliated; no sickness that stripped him of his health and dignity. For a few moments, Cloud was overcome by the contrast.

"We're already here." Squall said with an amused smile, enjoying the effect he had on Cloud. 

"Where is here?" Cloud managed to shake himself out of his momentary lapse in concentration and observed their surroundings, yet he could find nothing special or distinct about the place. 

"I wanted somewhere quiet, away from the village so that we can practice undisturbed."

"Practice?" Cloud asked, his eyebrows raised into his hairline. 

"You're Guardian now,” Squall began, stepping closer as he narrowed his gaze. “You'll need to learn to control your magic. Most importantly, we will need to learn to work together – to anticipate each other. Guardian's grow with their Gaian as they both age together. We do not have that advantage. It is something we need to correct as soon as possible."

"My magic?" Cloud felt like a parrot, but the reminder of his latent powers alarmed him and he was a little ashamed to admit that he hadn't yet considered his new talents. He'd been far too preoccupied with saving Squall's life. 

"I was a warrior before I met you. With Griever as my Guardian I was able to fight in battle using powerful summons. I do not yet know what kind of magic the Lifestream has given you, but it will dictate what we can and cannot do together."

"How do I use it?" 

Squall gave him a sympathetic smile and stepped closer, lifting a hand to place his fingers against Cloud’s temples. “All magic is controlled by the mind. Guardians are a conduit; through you I will be able to summon an attack and unleash it on a target. How powerful and how precise we are depends upon your concentration. Some Guardian’s insist on retaining control of the attack, others give themselves over completely to their Gaian. It will be up to you to decide which you prefer, but you must understand, it is a symbiotic relationship that takes years to master. You and I do not have that luxury.” 

Cloud swallowed hard, his nostrils flaring with the intense smells of the forest and the heat; the scent of Squall’s body overpowering everything else as the breeze changed direction, and Cloud was momentarily distracted. “H… how do I...” he licked his lips and tried to gather his thoughts, “how do I tap into it?” Cloud shook his head, embarrassed to admit that he knew so little. It had been years since he’d felt like a novice, remembering those long days spent on the tilt yard as Angeal had drilled him over and over again.

Squall cocked his head and his sympathetic smile turned nostalgic, a hint of sadness colouring his eyes as his hands framed Cloud’s face. “I remember Griever asking me that same question, many years ago when we were first learning to control it.”

Cloud reached up and covered Squall’s hand with his own. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” 

'It’s alright, it is a good memory.' Squall said bringing their foreheads together. He closed his eyes and Cloud mirrored him and Squall felt his Guardian’s presence bloom hotter in his mind. 'To unlock your power you will have to allow me into your Curssu – it is the part of you that is yours alone. Though we share a soul and are connected by the mind, each Guardian and their Gaian retain a part of themselves that is hidden and private; it is the point where the bond meets and can only be accessed if granted permission. It requires total trust between the Guardian and the Gaian. Do you think you can do this?'

Cloud nodded, a feeling of surety grounding him as he began to disengage from his physical body, and the sounds and smells of the real world started to melt away. 'I trust you.'

Squall could sense no lie in the thought and he briefly caressed Cloud’s mind with affection before he too focused himself and dissolved into their bond. 

It was as if Cloud was being plunged into warm, soothing water, and with a small gasp of shock that disorientated him for the briefest of moments, Cloud quickly found his equilibrium and caught hold of the link that tethered them together. He felt Squall testing the connection and with a subtle nudge that was conveyed quicker than even the thoughts in his mind, he allowed Squall to pass through it. The sensation was odd – as if someone had stepped right through him – but in a moment it was over and was replaced by the feeling of someone *inside* him, and he knew that from here, Squall could control his every thought and movement. If he so wished, he could make Cloud do anything, thought he knew instinctively that he would never do that. It was not an uncomfortable or painful feeling, yet it was disconcerting all the same. 

'You have another form.' Squall spoke to him, and the voice seemed to come from within his own body rather than his mind.

'Another form?… What does that mean?'

'You have the ability to change forms. It is meant to widen the conduit and will make accessing your magic easier. Humans are not naturally disposed to working magic, this is the Lifestream’s answer to that problem. You will have to change into this form if we want to summon.'

'How do I-'

'I will give the command. The link is forged now, you will know how – it will be instinctual.'

The feeling of Squall passing through him came again, and suddenly the Gaian was back inside his mind and Cloud’s body was once again his own. The world came back to him in a rush of colour and sound, and with a flicker of his eyelids, Cloud opened his eyes to see Squall step away with a curious frown. 

“Your magic will be ice based,” Squall said with an amused little smile. “It seems the Lifestream has a sense of irony.”

Cloud smiled at that too and watched as Squall backed up a few paces giving them a loose circle of space. 

“I’m going to give the command. Are you ready?”

Cloud swallowed nervously. “I’m really going to change form?” He asked, his voice tight.

Squall nodded.

“What will it be?”

“Something you have been your entire life: a wolf without a pack. I think the Lifestream was feeling whimsical when it created you.” Squall chuckled. 

Cloud huffed his own amused agreement and squared his shoulders, planting his feet a little further apart. With a small nod, he signalled that he was ready, and like the whisper of the wind that caught the branches of a tree, he felt a subtle shifting in his mind. It pushed against him, growing stronger and more urgent, similar to the feeling of Squall accessing his Curssu, and with it a tingling sensation as Cloud felt his physical body begin to disintegrate. The sensation was alarming and frightening, and he fluttered and floundered against it, pushing back with a shot of fear that turned the feeling painful and with a cry he wasn’t sure he voiced aloud he stumbled and fell to his knees. Immediately the transformation stopped and all Cloud could hear was the sound of his own harsh, ragged breaths in his ears, and the feeling of his heart beating against his ribs.

Squall was beside him in a moment, pressing his hands to the sides of Cloud’s head and running reassuring fingers through his hair. 

'It’s alright… just breathe.'

'I… I’m sorry, I couldn’t…' Cloud stammered, his senses and thoughts reeling even in his own mind. 

'It’s alright. The feeling will pass, just give it time.'

Slowly, his disorientation lessened and with a shaky sigh of relief, Cloud opened his eyes and looked up at Squall’s concerned face. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, breath coming a little easier now. “It just… I’ve never felt anything like that.” He didn’t want to admit that it had scared him, yet Squall knew anyway.

“It’s to be expected. This is a powerful magic, not even natural born Guardians can change their form.”

“Just another thing that makes me ‘unique’?” Cloud asked sardonically, thought there was no real bitterness in his voice. 

“I have a feeling you have always been unique.” Squall mocked him gently, letting out a short chuckle as Cloud nudged him with a hand against his shoulder.

“I’m alright now. I think we can try again.”

“Are you sure?”

Cloud nodded and stood, Squall following him carefully with his worried gaze, and as his Guardian stood again on trembling legs, Squall backed away and gave them room. 

“I’m going to give the command.” He said, giving Cloud time to prepare himself. 

This time, with some semblance of knowledge of what to expect, Cloud was prepared for the strange dissolving sensations, and with one final breath he let go of his resistance and let himself fall. 

Squall watched him change. A warm breeze blew up from nowhere, splashes and speckles of blue and green like fireflies dancing on the currents, and rose up from the ground like a swirling sandstorm engulfing Cloud’s form, obscuring him momentarily as the command worked its incantation. Abruptly, the swirling winds settled and then disappeared, revealing the space where Cloud’s human form had stood, and in its place sat the form of a large, grey wolf. The animal was perfectly still, its fur immaculate and shining, and its eyes were intelligent and knowing – almost human in their intensity – piercing Squall with familiarity and a startled surprise. Squall let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding and attempted a tentative smile. 

'How do you feel?' He asked, stepping forwards.

'Strange… I expected to feel different, but… I feel like me.' Cloud replied.

'Well, you certainly look different.' Squall said with a large grin. 

The wolf stood, bringing its height to Squall’s waist and with a tentative sniff of the wind it cocked its head and flattened its ears. 

'I feel as if I’ve always been this way…' Squall heard Cloud as if he’d thought the words to himself, and reaching out a hand, he ran his fingers through the animal’s pelt and felt Cloud’s consciousness respond to it with a soft growl of pleasure. 

'The Lifestream gave a name to this form,' he told Cloud, who turned his head to look up at his Gaian. 'It named you Fenrir.'

'Is that a good name?'

Squall smiled knowingly and moved his hand up to stroke behind Fenrir’s ear. 'It is.' He replied. 

With a small snort of pride, Fenrir lifted his nose to the scents on the wind again and stared off into the wood. 'What happens now?' He asked, taking a few tentative steps and finding his legs just as steady and strong as his human form. 

'Now the real work begins.' Squall said with a devilish smile, walking out past where Fenrir had stopped. He lifted his own face to the breeze and took in a large lungful of air. Now that he was connected to Cloud’s Curssu their bond was absolute, and Squall felt the world again as he had done with Griever. He was complete and whole and he felt a surge of elation that loosened that powerful, primeval part of him that made him so completely Gaian. 

'Are you feeling strong, Fenrir?' He asked, closing his eyes against the flashes of warm light that filtered down through the canopy, and relished the sensation of the wind against his face. He felt his Guardian respond with a strong pulse – a confirmation without words that he was ready and waiting for Squall’s command – and with a slow grin that lifted the corners of his mouth into a delicate smile, Squall tensed and breathed deeply, before gathering all of his long months of suffering and pain, fear and loss, and let it go in a single bound of energy. He rushed forwards in a powerful lunge and began to run, charging through the trees so fast that it whipped his hair off his face and snapped branches and twigs as he bolted through the forest. Fenrir raced beside him, matching his stride with a long and easy gait and they ran together for miles over the grassy hills until they cleared the tall waving trees and could run no further, their path blocked by a towering cliff face.

'Do you see the top?' Squall asked Fenrir as they broke the line of trees and began to slow down.

'I see it.' Fenrir replied, feeling their connection suddenly hum to life as Squall began a summons.

'Blast the rock into three parts, you’ll have to hit it precisely, or it will crumble rather than shatter.' Squall told him, the incantation already taking shape in Fenrir’s mind. It wove around his thoughts like a delicate pattern, showing him the way to move and shape his attack, and with a hot explosion of energy, his wolf form dissipated and he was suddenly incorporeal; a spiralling, expanding blast of white hot energy that followed the lines and movement of Squall’s command as if he were being pulled along by an invisible thread. His mass charged towards the top of the cliff face, gathering speed as he flew upwards into the air and hit the rock with such explosive speed he felt the whole world shatter around him into tiny fragments.

At the moment of impact his consciousness disappeared, and then like rain drops slowly gathering themselves into a small well upon a leaf, he was pulled back together and made solid once again, whole and elated at Squall’s side. 

'Not bad,' Squall spoke as he stared up at the destroyed cliff. Its top most peak had been obliterated and a chunk of granite had been chipped away to slide down the craggy face and had then exploded at the bottom in a shower of rock and ice. 'But you need to be more precise. Your hit was wide. Try holding on to the summons next time rather than letting it control your attack. You’ll have better aim.'

'You don’t want to control the whole summons?' Fenrir asked, eyeing his handiwork. 

'Considering your military background? I think it would be a waste of your talent. We need to trust each other to know how best to attack the enemy: I summon it, you control it.' Squall rationalised and Fenrir could not argue. Not that he would have had Squall wanted it differently. He trusted Squall’s judgement in a way he couldn’t explain. Yet it was a truth that ran soul deep. 

'Alright. Shall we try again?' Fenrir asked, standing eagerly.

Squall looked down at him appraisingly and smiled. 'Eager are we?'

'You were the one who said we didn’t have the luxury of time. We need the practice.'

'Fair enough. That jagged piece of rock just bellow the summit?' Squall pointed and Fenrir nodded. 'Don’t blast it, I want you to chip it off. This summons will be more pointed; like a knife or a dart. You’ll need to concentrate to hit it precisely.'

Fenrir huffed his approval and readied himself and within seconds felt the now familiar building of power as it shifted and shaped itself into a delicately woven pattern. Like the trigger of a crossbow being released, the incantation was sprung and Fenrir coalesced into a swirling point of energy that became razor sharp. He bolted straight and fast, slashing into the cliff face like a sword through a hey bail and the jagged point slid from its precarious outcrop and tumbled to the ground.

Fenrir reappeared by Squall’s side as it hit the earth and with an appraising hand to his head, Squall petted the fur back from his eyes. 

'You’re getting closer. You took a bit too much off, but it was better.'

They practised together for hours, summoning power and loosing it upon the cliff again and again, their hits becoming more accurate and the spell patterns becoming more intricate as they grew familiar with each other. Eventually, there was no more rock face left to attack and the ground before them lay strewn with rubble and shards of razor sharp, iridescent ice. With a final blast of energy that sent shock waves cross the tops of the trees and bent them like corn grass, Fenrir emerged from the Blizzara spell and sat back on his hunches at Squall’s feet. 

'Not bad. You learn quick.' Squall said taking in the destruction they had both wrought. The Gaian couldn’t deny the unparalleled surge of joy it had given him to have his magic back at his finger tips, and his expression was written across the landscape in the piles of rubble and displaced earth.

'You sound like Angeal. He told me that all the time growing up.' Fenrir replied with a mental roll of his eyes. 

'It’s impressive, actually. Tomorrow, I want to get my hands on a sword again.' Squall told him, unfolding his arms. 'Ready to change back?'

Fenrir stood and nodded, facing Squall as the Gaian signalled that he was ready and with a soundless command the Guardian felt that strange dissolving. He let it wash over him and he closed his eyes against the strangeness of it. When he opened them again, he was looking directly into Squall’s line of sight. Glancing down, Cloud saw his own hands – human and whole – and with a small whoosh of relief he looked up to find Squall staring at him appraisingly. 

“You know, I think I like this form better.” Squall said as he stepped into Cloud’s personal space. He bumped his nose against Cloud’s, reaching up a hand to brush away the fine hair around his eyes and carded his fingers through the silken strands. Cloud smiled back at him, a spark of something mischievous glinting in his eyes.

“It has its own advantages, I suppose.” 

Squall kissed him. It was hard and needful, and full of all of the joy and elation Squall felt at finally being returned to his birthright; the only person who had made it possible standing in front of him, reflecting and returning those feelings with an understanding that could not be described. It was beyond comfort, beyond contentment. It was completeness. 

Cloud held onto Squall, his hands braced against his hips as he was consumed by the kiss, his breath coming to him in short gasps as he felt the heat of his own need reflected in Squall’s body. It was powerful and primal, like a spark that fed a flame that became a fire, and Cloud was soon aware of not only his own body responding to the touch, but Squall’s too. He pulled away with an aborted gasp, cheeks heated with desire and embarrassment at his own shameful need, and tried to hide the way Squall’s touch had effected his body. 

'It’s nothing to be ashamed of.' Squall tried to reassure him, reaching out again to touch Cloud’s cheek. 'Remember, we’re not in Midgar any more. You don’t have to hide who you are.'

Cloud could not respond. Even in his own head he couldn’t find the words to explain his want and confusion, yet he knew he wanted that fire again. Too ashamed to ask for it, too controlled by years of suppression, he didn’t know how; he let Squall hold him again. This time, their kiss was slower, and all of that want and desire returned with a fierce burning. 

Neither of them sensed the cautiously approaching presence at the edge of their man made clearing. The Gaian’s approach was weary and cautious as she drew closer and gradually took in the scene before her, and with a broken shout that startled both of them and pulled them away from each other in a hurried retrieval of senses, Ellone yelled a single cry of distress and anger. 

“Traitor!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been a while since I've updated. I've had some family issues to attend to. But it's good to be back. I hope you enjoy the update. xxx


	20. Chapter 20

Ellone felt the ripples of magic and heard the sound of exploding rock and falling debris from miles away. The trace of Gaian magic had assuaged any lingering fears of an attack, and carefully and quietly, she set off in search of the source. She never expected to find her brother. The last she had been told of Squall, he was still in Winhill. Recovering, they'd told her. But news came through slowly and inconsistently when warriors were on patrol and yet the last person she expected or wanted to see was stood in front of her, embracing a creature she had no decent name for. 

The shock of seeing Squall again – alive and well and nothing like the wraith of a creature he'd been a few days ago – had robbed her of the ability to speak for those first few moments as she’d emerged from the woods. He looked just like she remembered him: healthy and strong, and for a moment all Ellone wanted to do was to go to him and hold him and welcome him home like she had imagined doing so many times after his capture. Yet there was still no instinctual bond or connection, and he was so far removed from her he felt like a missing limb. If Griever had still been alive she had no doubt Squall would have sensed her approach from miles away. She had never been able to sneak up on her twin and catching him off guard sent a deep ripple of disquiet through her. It was all the proof she needed that their bond was destroyed beyond repair, and that desire to greet him as long lost family evaporated completely. 

They'd changed him. Those bastards and cowards in Midgar had destroyed whatever had been left of her brother and had replaced him with this poor imitation. Nothing could be as it was and it hurt her so much she felt like she could hardly breathe. She loosened the terrible knot of anger in her chest and it exploded in a rage-filled cry, hot tears resting on her lashes as she balled her fists at her sides and glared at the person that had been her brother and the thing that was now his Guardian; an abomination of their natural law; a human who was not even nearly worthy enough to be a part of their world. 

"You're paired with him?" She asked, her voice wavering as Squall took a step towards her. His face was blanched with shocked although tones of other emotions were beginning to filter through. Ellone thought he had looked happy to see her for a moment. Then sad and then worried. But the one emotion she expected to see on his face wasn’t there, and it angered her more than anything: guilt. It didn't matter. He was not her brother. Not the brother she had known. He would never have lost himself to a human. Never have consented to be bonded to one let alone paired as a mate. This Gaian in front of her was an imposter. A traitor. 

"Ell, please..." Squall implored, reaching out a hand in supplication as he stepped nearer. The human hovered uncertainly behind him, his stare guarded and weary. 

"Don’t call me that. Answer me!" Ellone demanded caustically. 

"He... It's not that simple." Squall said, glancing at Cloud. This was not how he had imagined his reunion with his sister. This was not what he had suffered through long months of enslavement for. "There are things you don't know about, things that-"

"How can you even stand to let him touch you? He's one of them.” Ellone snarled, vaguely wondering why she was even asking. “They killed Griever. They killed our bond and took you prisoner... I thought you were dead." Ellone’s voice cracked and she took a large breath to steady herself. 

"I know, Ell. Believe me, I know. But Cloud, he's - " 

"Don't defined him." Ellone begged and shook her head, throwing the human a poisonous glare. "After everything Midgar has done to our people, don't you dare defend him. He's one of them!" She repeated, so much vehemence and hatred in her voice that Cloud winced and took an unconscious step backward. He had no way of knowing what she was saying – Squall was refusing to translate – but he knew from her piercing eyes that all of that hatred was for him. Edea had warned him it would happen and despite her words Cloud hadn’t wanted to believe her. Yet here it was, as sharp and as real as any dagger. 

'What is she saying? Squall, what’s going on?' Cloud asked desperately, reading Ellone’s angry face and feeling Squall’s desperately pounding heart.

"No he's not! He’s nothing like them." Squall snapped, finally done with trying to appease his sister with softness. He felt Cloud’s urgent demands nagging at the edges of his mind a tried to ignore it. "He saved my life."

'Squall, answer me!' Cloud was growing impatient.

Ellone clenched her jaw to stop it from trembling and stiffened her shoulders. "He saved your life," she agreed nodding slowly, "But for what? To be turned into this?" The disgust in her eyes made Squall flinch and his nostrils flare. A deep hurt worked its way into his soul and Cloud was immediately alerted to it, a need to calm and comfort overtaking him more strongly than any impulse he’d ever had.

“Enough!” Cloud cried making both Gaian’s jump. There was a long moment of silence as they waited for Cloud to speak and it was Ellone’s turn to be left in the dark as Cloud’s foreign tongue grated on her. “Tell me what she’s saying.”

“It’s too complicated to explain right now,” Squall began, imploring with Cloud to give him patience and understanding. Ellone’s nose wrinkled and she scowled heavily.

“He doesn’t even speak our language. And you,” she spat, jutting her chin out “You speak their filthy tongue like you’re one of them.”

“I had to in order to survive.” Squall growled, turning back to her. “You’re being unfair.”

“Unfair?” Ellone was incredulous. “You think it was fair that I had to mourn you? That I wasn’t even told you might still be alive? And now this? I was so afraid you were suffering and in pain… I spent my nights crying because I thought you must have been so alone. But now I see you spent your nights on your back letting this 'sisfilth' bed you!”

Squall felt his anger loosen at the vile and filthy slur, and with a low growl his body tensed. “You’ve no right to say those things.” He hissed. “You’re standing there judging me when you have no idea what I went through.”

“Please,” Ellone scoffed. “You call warming his bed torture?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re nothing but a clueless child.”

“I’d rather be a clueless child than a human’s whore.” Ellone’s face was twisted in ugly anger and Squall’s retort sat on the tip of his tongue. Knowing it would hurt her, knowing it would insult her far more than any other words could, he let them out and watched as they hit home.

“And I would rather be a human’s whore than your brother.”

Her anger changed to shock and then back to rage so quickly, Squall couldn’t have anticipated her sudden lunge. He was so focused on her hurtful words and his own righteous anger that he failed to reacted quickly enough and was startled backwards as she hurtled towards him. Without thinking he raised his arms and closed his eyes, ready for her impact. It never came, and as his mind quickly caught up with the sudden danger he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. Quicker than he’d ever seen Cloud move, his Guardian was in front of him blocking Ellone’s attack, and with a firm swipe of his arms, Cloud knocked her backwards. 

Ellone screamed in rage and flew at Cloud, twisting sharply in the air to feign a wide blow before dodging right and she swept her hand across his face. The dagger she had pulled from her boot sliced him cleanly across the cheek, and with a grunt of shock and pain, Cloud was thrown to the ground.

Instinctively, Squall seized the knife, clutching Ellone around the wrist, and wrenched it out of her hand, throwing her backwards. She stumbled, falling hard onto her backside as Squall stood over Cloud, his fist tightly balled by his sides as he glared down at her. There was a moment of silence and heavy breathing as Ellone took stock of her position, and slowly, with her breath heaving in and out of her lungs and surplus adrenaline fueling her aborted attack, she rose to her feet, never once taking her eyes off of Squall. 

“If you ever raise your hand to him again...” Squall let the threat linger, his eyes dark and dangerous. He threw the knife at her feet and watched as she slowly bent down and picked it up. Behind him, Cloud gingerly climbed to his own feet, fingers dabbing at the shallow cut along his cheek, slick with warm blood. He had no idea what had caused her sudden and vicious attack. Feeling only the primal need to protect Squall, without thinking he’d stepped in front of her. He watched her carefully now as she cleaned the knife on her sleeve and replaced it in it’s sheath. With a clenched jaw she spoke once more, her eyes just as dark and dangerous as her brother’s.

“You've betrayed your people, Squall.” she said, eerily calm. “You should have died with honour instead you'll live in disgrace. They will never accept him. I will never accept him. Or you."

Squall did not answer her. 

"You know the laws. A pairing between a Gaian and their Guardian is an abomination."

"This is different, he's not..." Squall was struggling to speak. Something had taken a hold of his throat constricting it and making it hard to talk. "He's not like other Guardian's. Those laws don't apply." He finally said, his voice weak and knotted with residual anger, unable to stop his sister's cruel words echoing in his mind. 'You should have died with honour...'

"So, you'll live as an outcast then? You're not content with the humiliation of a human Guardian, you'll mate with one too? You were right," Ellone said with disgust when Squall gave no reply. "You're no brother of mine. He died in Midgar. I have no idea who you are." 

Squall could not speak. He was struck dumb and wounded, pierced by Ellone’s cruel words and confused by her hatred. He felt a physical pain take his breath from him. His vision blurred and he watched her watery outline disappear back into the woods as she left him alone again.

All Cloud could feel was rejection and pain, and as Ellone stormed back into the woods he placed a hand on Squall’s shoulder. As Squall turned he caught sight of Cloud’s wounded cheek, and he was reminded again of Ellone’s unjust actions. Frowning, he reached up, placing his palm over the cut and with a soft utterance, Cloud felt a heat against his skin and a tingling replace the sting. When Squall removed his hand the wound was healed, leaving only the faintest of scars behind. 

For a moment Cloud was stunned, before his attention was pulled back to his Gaian and the echoes of their argument reverberating within his head.

'What happened?' Cloud finally asked when the chaos of Squall’s thoughts had cleared enough for Cloud to be heard. 

'I… I…' Squall stammered, his body beginning to tremble. All Cloud could hear in Squall’s mind was the same phrase, repeated over and over again: Yai raiss i'au suhus zuhs arais.

'What does it mean?' He asked Squall, clutching him tightly and growing more concerned the longer Squall refused to answer him. 

'I… I can’t tell you.' Squall replied, even the voice in his head sounded weak and distraught. 'I can’t…'

Cloud reached up and cupped the sides of Squall’s face, forcing him to look at him. “Tell me, please.” He begged, wanting to understand the cause of his Gaian’s hurt. 

Squall broke away, shaking his head and started to walk back in the direction of the village. His shoulders were heavy with his pain and he staggered slightly under the weight. Cloud caught up to him easily and tried again to make him talk.

“No!” Squall shot back, shrugging Cloud’s hand from off his arm. He sent an indisputable thought and impulse to be left alone and Cloud reeled from the force of it. Of course, Squall could never really, truly be alone, not with their bond. But Cloud understood well enough that he was to keep his distance and send no more probing thoughts. It made him ache, but he relented none-the-less. 

It was a long and silent trek back through the woods to Winhill, and it was late into the evening by the time they returned. Reluctantly, Cloud gave Squall his space, and went to find Aerith. 

*******

“Cyrus, If you don’t wind yer bloody neck in I’ll take my knife and slit it for you. Now wait your Hyne-damned turn!” Tifa thumped the tankard down on the bar top hard, spilling its foamy contents over her hand. She wiped it quickly with her apron and shot the old drunkard a fierce glare, cowing any thoughts the cooper had about making a smart retort. The old man knew she was serious, she’d invoked the old Gods with her curse. No one spoke of Hyne anymore and certainly not if they didn’t want word getting back to the army camped on their doorstep. King Shinra had people flayed for much less than speaking the Nibel God’s name. 

Seventh Heaven was particularly busy this evening, as if the patrons of Nibelheim had sensed she was back and had descended in their numbers to pester and gossip. A few of them had asked after her absence, but one sharp look and a gruff “Mind yer business.” had held many wagging tongues. It wouldn’t last forever. She’d have to think of something plausible to tell them soon. Cid had done a fairly middling job of keeping the old place together. She could always trust Cid to keep things ticking over, but the children had suffered for her absence. She went a mite nicer on them than the gruff old man and they always complained about an extra cuffed ear or a boot up the arse when Tifa was away. 

“Bloody wench!” She heard Cyrus mutter as he turned away and tried his better luck with Cid. She rolled her eyes and caught sight of a shock of silver hair on the other side of the bar.

“Riku, bring in the last of them barrels of Corel Dark, we’re almost out. And tell Marlene to grab them pies offa the oven. I can smell ‘em burning.”

“Them was the last o’ the barrels. We’re all out.” Riku replied, shuffling under the bar hatch with an arm full of empty mugs. He was a smart boy, tall for his age and with an unsettling, knowing gleam in his eye that sometimes put a shiver down Tifa’s spine. But he was handy with the horses and a hard worker where all else was concerned. Tifa couldn’t hold a feeling against him, not when he’d travelled all by himself from Atlantis. A long journey like that and a young boy like Riku didn’t bare thinking about. 

“Feggit,” Tifa cursed to herself, hands on hips as she took mental stock of the rest of her supplies. “Alright, it’ll have to be the grog. It tastes like Marlboro piss but there ain’t nothing I can do about it now.” She said, waving him off. “And don’t forget them pies!” 

She blew a strand of hair from her face and huffed. Climbing mountains and smuggling fugitives had been child’s play compared to this. With a sad smile she thought of Cloud and wondered where he was. I hope he made it, where ever he was headed.

The door banged open and a cold draught stole over the room. Head’s turned and the chatter died momentarily as they all craned their necks to see who had entered. Finding it no one important, the raucous noise began again and with a shout that carried over the general chaos of the tavern, the newcomer began to push his way through the crowd. Tifa recognised him of course. There weren’t nobody in this backwater town she didn’t know. 

“Miss Tifa, miss!” Wedge called, waving his arms above the heads of the crowd as he threw his great weight against the bar. Wedge was a butchers boy and as simple as they came; put him in a contest of wits against a bucket of chocobo manure and sure enough, Wedge would forget to turn up. But still, in Tifa’s experience, it was the dimmer ones that were the gentlest, and in a world of ice and snow, gentle was a rare commodity. 

“What is it, Wedge, I’m busier than a one-armed candle maker here.” she grumbled as she dumped the mugs Riku had brought back into the tub of soapy water. Catching Denzel by the ear as he scurried past, she turned him towards the stack of washing up. “Get to it. I wanna see me face in them mugs before yer done.”

“I know, but miss Tifa, its important, I just seen… I just...” Wedge panted, struggling to get his breath back.

“Well, spit it out yer great lump. I ain’t got all night.”

“Soldiers!” Wedge cried, his face red and sweaty, his eyes bright with alarm. 

“Soldiers?” Tifa asked, folding her arms across her chest with an unimpressed frown. “Wedge, ya bloody dimwit, we’ve had soldiers in Nibelheim for near on a year. Are yer bloody touched in the head?”

“No, no, I mean they’re coming this way. Rows and rows of ‘em. They’re marching!” Something about the scared urgency in Wedge’s voice killed the cutting retort on Tifa’s tongue. 

“Marching?” She asked, a small coil of dread unfolding in her belly. 

“Aye. And they got swords and armour and, and...” Wedge looked like he was going to pass out as he struggled to finish his sentence. “And the General, he was with ‘em. He’s leading ‘em right this way!”

“You’re sure?” Tifa asked, reaching across the bar and snatching up his hand. “You’re sure you didn’t just hit yer head and dream it?”

“I’m sure,” Wedge said with a little indignant frown. “I know I ain’t clever but I ain’t in me madness.”

Tifa was frozen with fright for a moment, a thousand horrifying images flashing through her head within seconds, her face turning pale and blanched as she stared at Wedge. 

“You alright, miss Tifa?” He asked.

“Get the children.” She whispered harshly, gripping his hand so tightly she left nail marks in his palm. “Round them all up and get them into the barn and stay there with them. Don’t come out ‘til I tell you, d’you hear?”

“Aye, miss.” Wedge replied, nodding. Clever enough to know not to question her, he turned and squeezed back into the crowd.

“Cid!” Tifa called, grabbing hold of the man’s arm as he stomped past. 

“Not now, woman. I got three more barrels o’ that feggin’ grog to peg, seein’ as how you saw fit to bring ‘em in tonight.” He replied, surly as ever.

“Never mind that now. We got trouble.” Tifa hissed, clutching tighter to his sleeve. “Soldiers are coming. Wedge has seen ‘em marching this way. The General is with ‘em.”

Cid’s eyes widened a fraction in alarm – the only outward sign that he felt the terror Tifa did – and with a swipe of his gnarled hand over his bristly chin, he licked his lips and took her under his arm.

“Get the children and stay outta the way. Don’t raise no alarm, keep it cool and casual. No need to frighten’ ‘em. Keep ‘em quiet, and keep ‘em outta sight. Lets just hope this is somethin’ about nothin’.”

“I’ve already sent Wedge to look for the kids. But Cid, this isn’t just going to blow over. The Lord General don’t just ride into town with an army over nothin’,” Tifa shrugged his arm off her shoulder. “Cid, he knows.”

“He don’t know nothin’.” Cid shot back, his mouth pinched in anxiety. “He can’t. We didn’t tell no one.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can feel it in my bones. He knows and he’s coming for us.”

Cid didn’t argue, which meant that deep down he believed it too, and Tifa praised his natural, stubborn good sense. 

“I had a fear somethin’ like this mightta happened. Ever since that damned boy brought that thing here. He’s ruined us all.”

“He didn’t have any other choice.” Tifa defended Cloud, still so protective of him despite the danger he’d put her and her family in. 

“Well it don’t matter neither way now, does it?” Cid swiped at his whiskers again. “I’ve put together a bag. It’s in the barn behind the manger. Its got food and clothes and your longbow in it. Reckon you’ll be needin’ it if things don’t go our way tonight. There’s enough there for the kids, if you’re careful. It’ll see you good for five days in any direction.”

“Lets hope it doesn’t come to that.” Tifa replied, wanting to throw her arms around the burly man. She held off, knowing his disposition towards such acts of affection. But she couldn’t help but notice he hadn’t included himself in his escape plan. She was about to question him on that when the door flew open again and a shout went up into the night. It silenced the patrons and their loud merrymaking and as Tifa turned and tried to see over the tops of heads who had made the alarming noise, she caught sight of several flickering torches, floating in the darkness outside. 

A low, uneasy ripple passed through the bar. Quiet murmurs followed by quick shuffling signalled someone had entered and the people were making way for them. As the crowd parted, Tifa felt her throat tighten, her eyes growing wide as she spotted Lord General Sephiroth. He stood quietly and calmly, hand rested on the hilt of his giant sword, his leather coat and metal pauldrons dusted with a light coating of snow, which was swiftly melting in the heat of the tavern. 

“Who owns this… establishment?” Sephiroth asked with a raised eyebrow as he looked around, his voice low and commanding. There was an awkward silence as the patrons looked around, huddling down further over their mugs of ale and throwing furtive glances towards the bar. 

Tifa swallowed past the tight knot of fear in her throat and lifted the hatch, stepping through on shaking legs. 

“I do.” She said, her voice tight but steady. The sea of bodies parted in a hasty shuffle to leave a small gangway through the crowd that led straight to the General, and Sephiroth turned to stare at the barmaid, his glowing green eyes narrowing as he looked her up and down with calculating precision. 

“You are Tifa Lockhart?” He asked, stepping further into the tavern to reveal a man in red leather behind him. Tifa felt bile rise in her throat. Captain Rhapsodos too? They were surely doomed. 

“I am.” Tifa nodded, feeling her strength failing her. 

“You’re acquainted with captain Strife, of The Fifth, is that correct?” Sephiroth asked, watching her face so intently Tifa felt like he could read her mind. 

“I am, he’s… he’s my friend, sir.” Tifa nodded, catching Cid out of the corner of her eye. He had come to stand beside her and with a careful hand on his wrist, she silently warned him to be ready. 

“And have you seen captain Strife recently?”

“No, m’lord.” Tifa answered, maybe a little too quickly. “He’s stationed at Avalanche, s’far as I know. Won’t be back out this way ‘til Jenova’s light. What’s all this about, anyways?” Tifa forced herself to appear nonchalant. 

Sephiroth smirked and his smile turned Tifa’s fear ice cold. He turned to address the whole room, his voice raising in volume and it sent tremors through Tifa’s trembling legs. 

“Captain Strife is declared a traitor and a fugitive of the king. He has murdered the prince and taken a valuable Gaian prisoner hostage, and we believe he is heading for the mountains. My sources indicate he may already have reached them.” Sephiroth turned back to Tifa and addressed her coolly. “As his friend and ally here in the north, it stands to reason he will have tried to make contact with you. Now,” he stepped closer. “I’m going to ask you one last time. Have you seen captain Strife?”

The room was deadly silent, and Tifa felt the rushing of blood in her ears. Somehow, she managed to muster the courage to shake her head, her fingers beginning to tingle with the fright that coursed through her body. Behind the General, a small girl shoved her way through the tightly packed crowd, and with a worried little cry, Marlene made to dart across the open space to Tifa’s side. 

Quickly snaking out a hand to capture the child, Sephiroth drew her in front of him, gripping her tiny arm in his gloved hand so tightly, Marlene let out a whimper. Tifa stifled the cry of outrage in the back of her throat and quickly held out an arm to stop Cid from rushing forwards. 

“Are you certain?” Sephiroth asked, letting go of the pommel of his sword to drag his fingers through Marlene’s hair in a mocking attempt at affection. The threat in his gaze obvious and deadly.

Tifa’s eyes darted from the little girl to the glinting stare of the General’s. For long terrifying moments, she was frozen still, her voice stuck in horrifying indecision as she tried to think what to do. 

“I… I don’t...” Tifa shook her head, aware that her ruse was swiftly falling apart as Sephiroth’s smile faded and he threw the little girl aside, her wounded cry making Tifa’s heart bleed. Sephiroth advanced on her. Grabbing Tifa by the arm and hauling her forwards and she stumbled, quickly regaining her footing as she heard Cid cry out behind her, no doubt held back by the crowd as it swiftly collapsed inwards and followed her outside. 

It was bitter in the dark night, and as the general threw her to the slushy ground, Tifa could better see the columns of soldiers stood like sentinels in the market square, their torches blazing brightly as the orange glow cast ominous shadows against the houses. Sephiroth came to stand in front of her and slowly pulled his sword from its scabbard. The metal hiss sent bone-deep chills through Tifa’s body that had nothing to do with the cold. The tavern had half emptied behind her, bodies spilled out into the forecourt in a haphazard semicircle to watch as the General stood towering over the hunched woman, and Tifa looked up into his shadowed face and found his eyes – catlike and demonic – glowing with heated anticipation. 

“I want to know where he went.” Sephiroth said, raising the tip of his sword to Tifa’s throat. Out of the corner of her eye, Tifa could see captain Rhapsodos, his stance uneasy and poised for action as he watched the General. 

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tifa heard herself say. 

“You do,” Sephiroth replied, smiling blithely at her stubbornness. “And you’re going to tell me how you helped him escape. Or I’m going to raze your little piss pit to the ground. But not before I slaughter every last child in your care and make you watch as I do it.”

Tifa felt herself gasp at the threat, her breath coming out in sharp and jagged pants of fear. She shivered uncontrollably, curling her arms around her middle as her knees slipped in the snow, her skirts soaking and tangled around her ankles. Gritting her teeth, she glared up at the General and spat at his feet. 

“You Hyne-damned monster.”

Sephiroth laughed, the sound so alien and sudden it caught Tifa by surprise. 

“The old Gods won’t help you.” He said, hand gripping tighter to the hilt of his sword. He pressed the tip closer to her throat, drawing blood. “Tell me how you helped him escape!”

“Enough!” Tifa heard a voice behind her, and she turned with fear in her gut as she saw Cid fight his way through the crowd. “Enough, I did it. I showed him over the mountains!”

“Cid, no!” Tifa cried, the first spring of tears beginning to blossom on her lashes. 

“It weren’t nowt to do with her. It were me, I took him over the mountains into Balamb.”

The sword point at her neck disappeared and the General’s looming shadow slipped over her. With a scream that was lodged in her throat, Tifa watched, frozen and immobile as Sephiroth gripped Cid by his collar and threw him to the ground. 

“When? Which pass?” Sephiroth barked, stilling the old man’s struggles with a sword point against his chest. 

“The High pass, near enough a week ago.” Cid replied, his hands raised in surrender as he shot Tifa a quick glance. She shook her head, begging him not to say any more.

Sephiroth was silent, his gaze lifted to look out into the darkness towards the towering mountains. His face twitched, and whatever madness had gripped him was slowly taking on a new shape as a living, breathing shadow seemed to pass over him. It rippled around him, pulling in light and darkness, and exuded a deadly chill much more acute than the cold of the snow, before it disappeared and the moment was passed. Calmly, he removed the point of the sword from Cid’s chest and raised the blade. Reaching down to grab a handful of Cid’s hair, he yanked his head back, exposing his neck, and with a swift slice of his weapon, he slit Cid’s throat, spilling thick, warm blood out onto the white snow. 

Tifa screamed, her cry carrying upwards into the night and a shock wave of terror was sent through the gathered crowd as they quickly started to panic.

“Get them inside!” Sephiroth said, turning to Genesis. 

The captain turned to his men, signalling to them to herd the frightened villagers into the tavern and in a moment of chaos and cries of protest, he caught a glimpse of Sephiroth’s maddened eyes. 

“Her too.” Sephiroth said as he passed Tifa, who had scrambled to Cid’s side and was franticly clutching at his neck, trying to stem the flow if blood. It wouldn’t do him any good. The old man was dead. 

“What do you intend to do?” Genesis asked, almost afraid to know the answer. 

“Burn it.” Sephiroth replied, sheathing his sword with a single hiss of metal. 

“What?” Genesis replied in shock, his eyes widening as more screams and shouts of protest went up through the village. 

The soldiers had begun to fan out, their torches raised to the tightly packed straw roofs and slowly, one by one, they set fire to the houses and shops, smoke quickly filling the air. Genesis turned to watch the last of the crowd being herded into the tavern, before a soldier picked the crying, hysterical barmaid up from her knees and threw her across the yard. She was wild in her grief, and she fought as hard as she could, but was quickly locked inside her own alehouse as more soldiers brought torches to its eaves. 

“Sephiroth, this is madness!” Genesis cried, horrified as he caught up with the General. He gripped hard to his arm, swinging him round with a rough shove that made Sephiroth’s eyes flare brilliantly, the incandescent glow like a green flame as he reached out and grabbed Genesis by the lapels of his long leather coat. 

“They broke the law!” Sephiroth snarled, bringing his face close to Genesis. The captain searched his lover’s face and could find nothing within it that he recognised. Only insanity and remorselessness. “They will learn to respect it. They will learn to fear it! Or they will all die!”

Sephiroth threw the captain away, dismissing him with a single shove as he marched towards the square, the flames of the burning town rising higher around him as they bled the dark, winter night red. 

*******

Cloud found Aerith in a small hut on the edge of the village. It had been given to them both on their first day in Winhill, but so far Cloud had not spent much time in it. Aerith had made it her own; it was sparse but comfortable, with two small pallets covered in furs and a fire-pit burning cheerfully in the centre, its softly rising smoke drawn upwards by the hole in the thatch, and a couple of decorative wall hangings adorning the sides. 

“Cloud, where have you been?” Aerith asked as she looked up from her mending. The Gaian’s had given her a simple shift dress, made of light cotton to suit the warmer weather, and she was busy patching up a hole in the shirt she had worn over the mountains. “What’s wrong?” She added when she saw his grave face.

“Squall took me out into the woods. We were practising.” He explained, folding his legs underneath him as he joined her on one of the pallets. 

“Practising?” Aerith’s face was puzzled, but Cloud did not answer her. His face was troubled, his brows drawn down in serious thought, and Aerith was reminded of the Cloud she had known back in Midgar. That person felt like such a long time ago now, and the reminder was unnerving. 

“I met Ellone today.” Cloud eventually said, his voice a low murmur as he picked up a stalk of straw and absently tossed it into the fire. 

“Squall’s sister?” Aerith’s brows rose into her hairline. “What happened?”

Cloud sighed and rubbed at his tired eyes, smudging some of the blue markings. “Edea was right,” he began, resting his elbows on his knees. “She hates me.”

“Hates you? How do you know?”

“Trust me, I know.” Cloud replied dryly, absently itching at the faded scar on his cheek. “She tried to attack Squall. I got in the way and she cut me.” He explained, sensing Aerith eyes go wide. “And she said something to Squall that hurt him but I don’t know what it was; he wouldn’t tell me.”

Cloud didn’t know if it was not knowing that bothered him, or the fact that Squall had refused to tell him. Even with their bond there was only so much he could understand. The Gaian language was still a mystery to him and as long as Squall refused to translate, he would always be in the dark. 

“Do you know what Yai raiss i'au suhus zuhs arais means?” He asked hopefully, turning to look at her with large pleading eyes. 

Aerith frowned and turned the phrase over a few times, before shaking her head subtly. 

“Something about death and honour. I don’t know enough Gaian to make out the rest. I’m sorry.” She said placing a comforting hand on his knee. “Maybe you should ask Edea.”

Cloud bit the inside of his cheek and nodded, no small amount of disappointment shadowing his face as he looked back at the fire. 

“Where is Squall now, why aren’t you with him?”

“He wanted to be left alone.” Cloud said moodily. It was the closest Aerith had even seen him come to sulking. 

“Well, if what Ellone said to him hurt him that much, I can understand that. He’ll be alright in the morning, you’ll see.” Aerith tried to comfort him, patting his knee with a warm smile. Cloud huffed in response, still glum and despondent despite Aerith’s best efforts. 

“I’m going to bed. I suggest you do the same. Everything will look different tomorrow, I promise.”

Cloud sat up by the fire for a while longer, until he heard the deeper, calmer breathing of the young woman, and the rest of the village had settled down to slumber. With a resigned sigh, Cloud followed suit and lay back on the pallet next to Aerith and let her comforting presence soothe him into a troubled sleep.

He was awoken again, in the deepest part of the night, by one of Squall’s nightmares. His Gaian had been dreaming of a towering waterfall and a soaring eagle, and as quickly as the images had shifted and changed from green and blue hues to darkened shadows, Squall had fallen under the terrifying throws of half forgotten memories. 

Cloud jerked awake, kicked out of the dream by the rising wave of fear, and a little startled and still half asleep, he stumbled to his feet and wandered outside. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, he looked up into the night sky and found it pinpricked with thousands of stars. Breathing the cool, fresh air, he closed his eyes and reached out for his Curssu, following it’s pull to where Squall was sleeping. 

Squall’s hut was situated amongst a tightly packed collection of dwellings and without their bond, Cloud realised he’d have had very little hope of finding it. Pulling back the curtain he stepped inside and was surprised to find it crammed with objects. The house had obviously been well lived in for many years, and was full of books and trinkets, games and puzzle pieces, objects carved of wood and stone and several gleaming weapons stored against the wall. Woven hangings and rugs covered most of the floor and walls; dream catchers and wind chimes hung from the rafters, and sheaves of paper with elegant flowing handwriting littered a space by the only, small circular window. On a large pallet across from the fire-pit, piled high with furs and blankets, a familiar mound lay curled up on his side, sleeping fitfully. 

Cloud crossed the small hut, and as gently as he could, he lowered himself down beside Squall and firmly shook his shoulder. 

Squall awoke quickly and with a sudden start, his eyes blinking open rapidly as he looked over his shoulder.

“You were dreaming again.” Cloud muttered, watching as Squall’s sleep misted eyes cleared. With a puzzled frown, Squall turned over onto his back and rubbed at his tired face. 

“Where have you been?” He asked, a little hurt.

“You said you wanted to be alone.”

“I did, but I...”

Cloud might have laughed at Squall’s petulant pouting, his childish reaction to being given the space he had asked for but not secretly wanted was oddly adorable, but the cause of it was still to be addressed. 

“If you wanted me to come back, you could have just asked.” Cloud pointed out. Never again could he use the excuse that he was not a mind reader. But while Squall was well used to having his feelings read and interpreted, Cloud was still only human – relying too heavily on his human instinct to tell him what to do. “I didn’t want to intrude on your sulking.” He added with a smile.

“I don’t sulk.” Squall replied indignantly, punching Cloud softly in the arm. 

Cloud huffed an amused smile and stroked the bangs back from Squall’s face. “Do you still want to be alone?” He asked, the inflection of his voice turning tender. 

“No.” Squall replied quickly, shaking his head and leaning into Cloud’s touch. 

Settling down onto his side and pulling Squall into his arms, tucking his head under his chin, Cloud closed his eyes and opened their bond, letting soothing thoughts and feelings out into it. He felt Squall sigh – mentally and physically – and he clutched a little tighter to the Gaian. 

'I’m worried about you.' He admitted, drawing absent patterns along Squall’s arm with his fingertips. 

'I know, and I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you.'

'What did she say that hurt you so much?' Cloud asked, recalling that horrible moment Squall had been so wounded. 

'I don’t want to tell you.' Squall replied and Cloud could feel an undercurrent of something else; a deeper concern than just hurtful, spiteful words.

'Why?'

'It doesn’t matter. Nothing will change anything now. You’re Guardian… you’re my Guardian. Its done with.'

'Is that what this is about? Ellone doesn’t approve of me being your Guardian?'

'Among other things…' Cloud heard Squall say, though the thought was small and private and he supposed it was not really meant for him. 

'Edea warned me this might happen. That your people wouldn’t accept me because I’m human. I… I didn’t mean to bring this complication on you, I’m sorry.' Cloud said, choosing to ignore for now the strange private thought. 

“We’ve already been over this,” Squall said, speaking out loud as he attempted to wriggle closer into Cloud’s hold. He let out a thin tendril of annoyance and hoped that Cloud would get the message. “You’re not sorry for saving my life, and neither am I. Who cares what the others think?”

“But she’s your sister.” Cloud pressed.

“And we’ve fought before. I know her, trust me, she can be selfish and stubborn, but she isn’t a monster. She can’t hold this against us forever, she’ll come around.”

Cloud could feel the uncertainly in Squall’s words even without their bond, yet he chose not to mention it. Instead, he sighed, more thoughts troubling him than he had the time to work out. 

“This isn’t how I imagined bringing you home.” He said softly. “Saving you from Midgar was meant to make things better. I have so much to make up for but instead I feel like I’m making things worse.”

Cloud was looking up at the small smoke hole in the rafters, the light from the low embers not quite enough to block out the twinkling stars and he let his mind wonder; shadows of regret and memories of past failings filling his head like ghosts.

Squall opened his eyes and frowned. Catching the undertow of deep self hatred and shades of something else colouring Cloud’s words, he looked up at his Guardian and gently reached for his face.

“Cloud, what are you saying?”

“I… I don’t...” Cloud tried to articulate his feelings of inadequacy, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t put into words how much he felt like he was doing everything wrong. All of the decisions he’d made that had brought both he and Squall to this point in time had come at such a heavy cost, and he was asking Squall to pay it with him. Squall felt Cloud’s hesitation – his frustration with himself – and his irritation melted away.

“I should have died in Midgar,” he began slowly and softly. “but because of you, I lived. I will never regret that. I will never regret allowing you into my life, no matter what my people think of me.” Squall was absolute in his conviction and he raised himself onto his elbow and stared down at Cloud, who was looking up at him so uncertainly. “They can’t possibly know what it was like there.”

“But I… I was still...” Cloud still couldn’t quite form the words. I was still your captor. How can you feel the way you do after everything I put you through? Your people are right to hate me.

Squall frowned in honest confusion. 'Everything you put me through?' He asked, reaching up to card a hand through the bangs at Cloud’s temple. 'You’ve never once hurt me.'

'But I allowed you to be hurt. In Midgar… when Ansem… I stood there and let it happen. How can you not despise me for that?' Cloud asked, so ready to hate himself enough for the both of them. 

'You gave me peace.' Squall said pressing his forehead to Cloud’s and closed his eyes against Cloud’s self loathing. It made him hurt in a way that was just as terrible as his physical wounds had been. 'They were small moments, and not enough, but without them I would have died so much sooner. Don’t you understand that?'

Without their bond, Cloud might never have been able to see what Squall was trying to tell him, yet gradually, as he allowed Squall’s thoughts and feelings to suffuse his own, he realised the impossibility of finding such peace in a hellish place like Avalanche. How overcome with relief Squall must have been to discover a person who had not wanted to hurt him or humiliate him, and who had – over time – become not just a reprieve from the hell he’d been living in, but a friend. Trust had been such an unexpected thing to find in that bleak place, yet Cloud had nurtured it between them, and he had never once given Squall reason to doubt that he would break it.

'You’re more than what they made you into, Cloud. And I’m going to make you believe that.' Squall kissed him hotly, turning his defiant challenge into a needful demand as he let his hand wander down Cloud’s neck and chest, carefully pawing at his taught muscles. He felt Cloud shiver, and continued to distract him with his mouth as his hand skimmed lower and began to tug at the laces of his trousers. Shifting closer, Squall hooked a leg over Cloud’s and gently prised his knees apart, giving him room to work his hand inside his clothing and swiftly touch his fingers against his growing erection. 

Cloud hissed and felt his breath hitch, and he flinched with surprised pleasure. Quickly he grabbed at Squall’s wrist, suddenly alarmed and all too embarrassed by his excitement, and he broke their passionate kiss with an awkward stutter.

“Squall… I…” He swallowed heavily and licked his lips, searching Squall’s unapologetic gaze with his own uncertain stare. 'I… I don’t know if I can.' He finally admitted, feeling his cheeks heat with shame. The fears that he wasn’t saying all too easy for Squall to read: 'I’m not supposed to want this...'

“I want you.” Squall said after a while, watching Cloud intently as his words found their mark. “And I know you want me, too. This is who you are, Cloud. It's time to stop running from it.”

Slowly – as Squall’s sincerity worked its way between the cracks of Cloud’s resistance – Cloud loosened his grip on Squall's wrist and silently gave his consent for him to continue; with a shaky sigh and a small hitch in his breath, he let Squall begin to stroke him. 

Squall watched Cloud from under lowered lids, carefully assessing each small glimmer of lust; coaxing it – nurturing it – as he captured Cloud's mouth and kissed him slowly, working his hand evenly over his length in smooth strokes. He felt Cloud’s breath against his cheek coming in little gasps and pants, the moist heat coating his skin as he turned his head and glanced down to watch himself touch his lover, and in a fluid and graceful movement, Squall sat up, the blankets pooling around his waist to reveal his own nakedness. Carefully, without stopping his tender ministrations, Squall positioned himself between Cloud's clothed legs exposing himself fully erect to his Guardian for the first time, and bashfully, Cloud turned away, his cheeks pinking and his eyes sliding closed in awkward humiliation. 

"No," Squall said gently, capturing Cloud's cheek with a soft touch of his fingers. "Look at me."

Cloud obeyed the tender command and with a fluttering breath he opened his eyes and stared up at Squall who was beautiful in his boldness; unafraid and unashamed of his desire, and Cloud shuddered under his confident gaze. His fingers twisted in the soft furs beneath him as he gripped them hard and he tried not to lose himself to the blissful sensations. Squall reached down and took up Cloud’s hand, untangling his vice-like grip with a firm touch and he guided him to his own aching need, a gentle smile on his face as Cloud hesitated to take him – his gaze flicking to his arousal and then away again – and he watched Cloud gasp in surprise. His Guardian felt the sensations his touch awoke in Squall, their shared bond echoing their desires to each other.

'I… I can feel… what you’re feeling.' Cloud’s thoughts stammered, his brow wrinkled in barely controlled pleasure. Squall leaned down over him, supporting himself on one lean arm as he dipped his head and kissed him slowly. For long lazy minutes they pleasured each other, content with the feel of warm and sensual fingers and the play of lips against skin. With a breathy sigh against Cloud’s mouth, Squall captured Cloud’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugged on it playfully.

'There is more if you’re ready, or is this enough?' He asked, brushing his nose against Cloud’s and he sent him a fleeting image that made Cloud tremble. 

'I… I don’t… I don’t know how.' Cloud confessed, swallowing thickly. He felt his skin heat and prickle with the promise of that sinful image, and he almost lost control of his rising need. 

'Don’t worry, I’ll show you.' Squall told him, sitting up and letting go of his lover. Cloud released him and watched him shuffle backwards, licking his lips nervously as Squall took hold of his breeches and tugged them down, quickly stripping him of the last of his clothing. 

Cloud raised himself to his elbows and watched as his lover retrieved a wooden box from amongst his belongings and produced a small vial of sweet smelling oil. Too ashamed and embarrassed to ask what it was for, he watched in silence as Squall poured it into his palm, warming it between his hands before he took hold of Cloud once again and coated his aching erection. Cloud let out a small moan at the sensation and bit his lip to stifle the noise. With a thumb pressed against Cloud’s mouth, Squall tugged it free and instead swallowed those delicious sounds in a deep kiss, manoeuvring himself over his lover with a graceful arch of his leg; fingers disappearing into the bangs around Cloud’s face as he darted his tongue out and lapped gently at the bow of his lip. 

'Are you ready?' He asked, pressing his forehead against Cloud’s, and braced himself a little more firmly on his knees.

Gingerly, Cloud reached up and gripped Squall by his hips, squeezing in response as he lay back down and waited for him to move, heart hammering in in his chest. 'I’m ready.' He tried to sound confident, yet the ripple of anxiety could not be masked. 

Reaching behind him, Squall took hold of Cloud again and carefully guided him to his opening, and with his other hand braced against Cloud’s chest, and a little pressure as he pushed past the first tight ring of muscle, he watched Cloud’s eyes widen as his lover entered him. 

Achingly slow, Squall pushed back, his breathing coming short and sharp at the feeling of being filled and with a low groan, Cloud felt the first of his lover’s careful control begin to slip. A rush of desire and pleasure washed over him, and Cloud felt his release rushing towards him with alarming speed. With a strangled cry, he sat up, placing a firm hold against Squall’s hips to cease his movements and crashed their chests together, holding him still as he fought to control himself. 

“D-don’t move.” Cloud croaked, his breath hot against Squall’s throat as he panted heavily and squeezed his eyes closed, tightening his hold around Squall’s waist. He heard his lover sigh – a gentle, fluttering release of breath – and it steadied him, calming him from his early release and he tried desperately not to feel all of the sensation’s their bond was sharing with him. He could feel Squall’s pleasure, and it only intensified his own. He felt Squall’s arms encircle him and his lover rest his chin atop his head as he stilled his hips, finally flush with Cloud inside him. 

With a small shake of his head, Cloud tried to think of something else to calm his racing heart and douse the heat in his skin, and he thought of the bitter snows of his home and unwittingly let in the shame that a lifetime of repression had driven him into. 

In Midgar he'd be reviled as a sodomite, his existence a stain on the purity of mankind, and he recalled a long buried memory of two men being dragged from their bed and hauled through the dark streets, naked and taunted, spat at and kicked, as the villagers of Avalanche had herded them through the cold night to the base of the castle wall. A young Cloud had watched in silent terror as they'd stoned those men to death. He had kept his silent screams locked in his throat as he committed the blood in their ears and noses to memory. He had never made a sound; afraid that if he opened his mouth even to join in the hateful taunts the villagers would look at him and somehow know, and he would end up naked and humiliated, stoned to death in that market square, too. 

But here in Balamb, in Squall's arms, he was not the monster that disgusting display of hate had told him he was. Here he was something he never thought he could be... 

'You're not there any more.' Squall whispered in his mind as he soothed away the terrifying memories. He began to move in a slow and easy rhythm and Cloud let out a small, shallow cry of pleasure, those fleeting feelings of shame evaporating with his renewed desire. 

'I know... I'm here...' He replied lifting his face to look up at Squall. With a shaky sigh he gripped his lover tighter and closed his eyes against the dual pleasure of his own desire and the echoes of Squall's softly crashing against his mind as they moved, and he let Squall set their pace, content to fall apart and lose himself to the sensations of their slow and deliberate lovemaking. 

Squall had frowned as Cloud allowed those memories to surface, a deep repulsion making his heart ache for the cruelty that had forced his lover to live in shame and fear; the lie his life had become had been so corrosive it had tainted his ability to connect with the few people that had loved him. Even with himself. Cloud barely knew his own desires and it made Squall ache with sadness. The good and honest man that Cloud was had been buried beneath years of cruelty and oppression, and Squall could hardly contain his incredulity as he felt the tender way Cloud held him and pressed soft and careful kisses to his skin. How had such a man survived underneath all of that hate?

'I still can’t believe... after everything that’s happened...you’re mine…' He mused absently, unaware that he had let the sentiment pass between them, and although Cloud felt that it was he who did not deserve Squall, he didn’t voice the thought. Instead he let the feel of Squall’s body distract him, and finding his courage, he took a hold of Squall and turned them both over, laying him down against the furs to settled his weight onto his elbows. Still buried deep inside of him, he began to roll his hips, the change in angle making them both shudder and moan as Squall squeezed his thighs around Cloud’s waist and snaked his arms around his neck. 

No more complicated thoughts or emotions passed between them. Only groans of pleasure and the light touch of fingertips against skin as Cloud traced his hand against Squall’s ribs and felt the way his stomach quivered as he took him in his hand and pleasured him. He swallowed the moans that Squall let slip, breathing heavily against his lips in an open-mouthed kiss as he panted and groaned in response; hissed at the sting of Squall’s nails against his back and ached with the strain in his thighs as he drove himself inside his lover’s tight heat. He felt his body heat rise to a burning flush, and a thin film of sweat coated their skin; small rivulets tracking their way down the indents of his spine and the hollow of Squall’s belly. He dipped his head and gently sucked on Squall’s neck, lapping at the moisture there as he left faint bruises behind.

Cloud felt Squall’s leg at the back of his thigh encouraging him in deeper, and he answered with a slow roll of his hips, pushing himself as far as he could go and he shuddered as Squall responded with a stiffening of his body. His lover threw his head back, exposing more of the delicate arch of his throat, and let out a breathy moan. Cloud repeated the movement, a wondrous little smile curving his lips as he watched Squall writhe beneath him and committed it to memory; all the little ways his face changed in pleasure. The way his brows creased and his lashes fluttered against his cheeks. The way he caught his bottom lip between his teeth and then soothed the bite with a swipe of his tongue. The way his skin heated and flushed, leaving a light dusting of pink across his cheeks, and the small beads of sweat that had gathered in his hairline and stuck his bangs to his damp forehead. 

“You’re close...” He heard Squall mutter as his lover brought his mouth to Cloud’s ear, and he trembled with his quickly approaching release.

“I… I can hold on.” Cloud panted, swallowing hard as he buried his nose against Squall’s temple and felt his lover smile against his cheek. 

“Hng, I know,” Squall moaned as he bit Cloud’s ear gently. “But I don’t want you to.” He worked his hand between their bodies and placed his fingers over Cloud’s, coaxing him a little faster, guiding his hand into a firmer rhythm. He arched up into the touch, letting out a strangled groan as he felt Cloud move his hips quicker, his thrusts becoming shallower and more desperate. 

'Ah… Squall, I…'

'It’s alright, don’t stop.' Squall warned him as he felt Cloud begin to fall apart, the intensity of his release crashing against him with blissful force, and with an aborted gasp cut off somewhere in the back of his throat, Squall felt Cloud come, and he let his own orgasm wash over him, forcing his body to quiver with release as he shuddered and panted in pleasure. 

Cloud went still and ridged, his muscles locked and tense, and his mouth hung open in a silent moan as he screwed his eyes shut tightly and rode his orgasm to completion. He felt the echoes of Squall’s climax underneath his own and sharply pulled in a gasp as he was released from the powerful ripples of pleasure and his body went lax, finally collapsing heavily on top of Squall, who drew him firmly into his arms and held him as he panted through his aftershocks. 

Gradually, Cloud became aware of gentle fingers in his hair, and soft lips against his temple, and with a drowsy moan, he shifted and pulled out of Squall’s body. 

With a satisfied wince, Squall straightened his legs and guided Cloud into a comfortable, replete hold, his head rested against his chest, and he allowed him to recover listening to the slowing beat of his heart. 

'Are you alright?' He finally asked, running the backs of his fingers along Cloud’s cheek. He felt Cloud’s mind flex, as if giving a little stretch, and attempt to gradually claw his way back from the precipice of sleep he’d been floating on. 

'I’m fine.' Cloud eventually replied, too exhausted to lift his head, sleep already nearly upon him.

With a soft chuckle and a pleased, self-satisfied smile, Squall closed his eyes and joined him.


	21. Chapter 21

Tifa was thrown flat to the dusty floorboards, crushed under the immense press of bodies as they scrambled and shoved against the solid wooden door; Seventh Heaven slowly burned around them. Collapsed to her knees, she was at the mercy of the ebb and flow of the panicked mob as she was battered backwards and forwards, the screams and the shouts of terror rising to deafening madness through the slowly descending pall of smoke that drifted down from the rafters. Small, burning embers began to fall like scorching snowflakes, catching in her hair as she tore her nails bloody in an attempt to stand. Again and again she was knocked back down, boots stomping her hands, and knees cracking over her head as she pushed her way through, crawling almost on her belly away from the door.

A wayward boot caught her in her stomach and she collapsed in a breathless heap covering her face with her hands as feet stomped down on her legs and head, and through her desperate cries her mind screamed Cid’s name over and over again. 

The smoke was growing thicker and the crackle of snapping flames could be heard over the desperate shouts. Winded and terrified, Tifa lifted her head and tried to search for a clear path through the chaos when a small body dropped beside hers and little hands reached out, grasping at her arms and pulled her up. With a shove against the pressing bodies, Tifa managed to sit up, clinging to the child in front of her as the panic around them rose even higher. 

“Tifa, we have to move.” Riku cried, his hands clutching tighter to the bloodied sleeve of her dress. “Where’s Cid?”

Tifa shook her head, wiping at the soot and ash falling into her face as she coughed and spluttered. “He’s dead...” she gagged “Sephiroth killed him.”

Riku’s eyes went wide and his small face turned pale. His mouth turned down into a grimace and his child-like features took on an oddly mature determination. 

“This whole place is gonna go up in smoke. We can’t stay here.” He said forcing his way to his feet pulling Tifa along with him. 

It was a struggle for Tifa to stand. Her legs kept getting caught in her skirts and the constant shoving of the crowd knocked her sideways, but eventually they managed to force their way to the bar, finding some free space enough to stand up straight and wiggle through the hatch onto the other side. Heads bent low through the thickening smoke, they shouldered their way through to the kitchen, the falling embers and curling smoke growing denser as they moved towards to back of the tavern. 

“The kids,” Tifa chocked, squinting through the thick smoke, trying to keep sight of Riku as he led her across the kitchen.

“They’re all here… Wedge has got ‘em.” Riku gasped back, holding his arm across his mouth as he heaved a shoulder against the bolted door. It refused to budge and he slammed a fist against it, coughing uncontrollably as Tifa joined him. 

“Wedge!” She cried, choking on her desperate scream as she rammed her whole body against the solid door. Her terror increased in steps as the moments slipped by and the air grew thicker with smoke and the heat from the bar behind them intensified. “Wedge, open the door!”

Faint sounds of wild horses and the tears of frightened children could be heard on the other side, and Tifa banged harder, pulling Riku into her side as a burning beam fell across the room, blocking their exit back into the tavern, and sent sparks out across the floor, hitting her sodden skirts with a damp hiss. 

“Wedge, please, open the door!” her cries were growing fainter and her banging weaker when the deadbolt across the door was lifted and Tifa and Riku fell into the barn, landing in a heap on the straw as smoke billowed in behind them. The sounds of panicked horses was louder now, and Tifa looked up just in time to roll away from the stamping hooves of a frightened beast as it whined and screamed at the scent of fire in its nostrils. She pulled Riku with her, shielding him with her body as she rolled into Wedge’s legs, the giant of a man throwing the door closed behind them and bolting it again. 

She was hauled to her feet a second time as Wedge lifted her off the ground and set her upright, steadying her shaking body in his massive hands as they both ducked at the shattering sound of the roof collapsing in the kitchen behind them. 

“Where are the children?” Tifa cried, covering her mouth with her sleeve against the smoke that billowed in from underneath the door.

“In the back. They’re all there Miss Tifa, just like you said.” Wedge replied, pulling Riku to his feet too. Tifa turned and saw the pale and frightened faced of her children peeking from behind a makeshift barrier of wooden planks and saddles, their desperate cries and terrified tears streaking their grubby faces as they looked at her imploringly. 

“We have to find a way out of here and head for the mountains. Sephiroth has gone mad and is burning the village. He killed Cid.”

Wedge’s eyes went wide and round, his mouth hanging open in a dazed mockery of a fish.

Tifa turned and skirted around the skittish horses, pulling Riku with her as she made her way slowly around the edge of the barn to the manger and rummaged in the deep hey. Finding the hidden backpack, she pulled it free and hauled it over to the group of frightened children. Thanking Cid’s cautious and prudent nature, she pulled the warm furs out and handed them to the children. 

“Here, put these on. We’re going out into the storm and you’ll need to keep warm. You’ll listen to me, and mind every word. Were going over the mountains and they’re no place for kids. Stay close to me and do exactly as I say. D’you understand?” she said, catching each one of them with a stern look through watery eyes as she handed out the coats.

Every one of them nodded quickly, bottom lips quivering with fear as they quickly shrugged into the furs and huddled back down together to wait for their next instruction. 

“Wedge, I know I ain’t got no right to ask this of you, but I need your help. I can’t get these kids over the mountains on my own. Will you come with me?” Tifa asked as she slung her bow over her head and pulled the quiver from the base of the manger, counting the arrows methodically in a quick inventory. 

“Aye Miss, I’ll do it.” Wedge nodded firmly, his mouth set in a grim line of determination. 

Tifa cast her gaze about the barn and pulled the pitchfork down from its hanging on the back wall, handing it to Wedge. “You’ll need a weapon.” she told him. “Here, help me make a hole in the wall. Soldiers will be expecting us to escape from the barn doors.” She said, instructing Wedge towards the back of the barn.

Small flurries of snow filtered in through the gaps in the boards and as Tifa put her face close to the wood she peered out into the night beyond, checking to see if the coast was clear. 

“What about this?” she heard Riku call behind her and turned to see him holding up a small wood cutters axe. 

“Hand it here.” She said urgently, motioning for him to come quickly as the dry straw of the barn thatch started to burn. 

Giving herself plenty of space she raised the axe and took a heavy swing at the back wall, the old, dry wood splintering with a satisfying crack. She hit it again and again, pulling at the blades of wood as she chipped away at the wall, her swings becoming more frantic with the thickening of the smoke.

“Here, let me try.” Wedge said, pulling on her tiring arm as she stepped aside and let the large man heave his shoulder against the weakened wood.

Wedge barrelled his body against the fractured wall and crashed through it, landing with a heavy thump and a grunt of pain into the piled up snow outside, the hole in the wall big enough to slip Tifa and an armful of children through at once. 

Quickly, Tifa grabbed Riku and forced him through, turning to coax the other children across the barn and file them out into the dark night as quickly one by one, they escaped the burning building just as the screams of the horses began to pierce their ears. 

Tifa was the last to scramble through the hole, pulling the backpack out behind her as she collapsed into the high snow drift and she landed on her back, staring straight up at the dark sky, snow clouds obscuring the patchwork of twinkling stars beyond it. She barely had time to blink her eyes and adjust them to the murky orange glow of the burning night when I child’s scream tore through the crackling of the fire and a flash of steel caught her attention from the corner of her eye. She looked up as a shadow fell across her, and standing above her was the monstrous shape of the general, his long silver hair billowing around him like eddies of snow in the swirling winds. She would have opened her mouth to scream, but in the time it took her to draw a breath, the general turned, his attention pulled away by the crunch of snow behind him and he lifted his sword from Tifa neck, swinging it high up above him to meet the singing arch of another blade as it came swinging down behind him. 

Tifa rolled to the left, quickly clambering to her feet as she scurried away and fell into a heap next to Wedge, watching as Sephiroth roared in anger and stumbled away from Genesis. 

The captain of the Second pushed hard against the parried blow, gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder as she stepped back, creating a loose circle around the general as he waited for his lover to strike back, weary eyes following Sephiroth’s careful footsteps as the general turned his body into the light and stepped out of the shadow of the barn.

“You would defy my orders?” he said, eyes glowing fiercely in the dimness. 

“Your orders make no sense.” Genesis hissed, lowering his sword a touch as his gaze flicked to the woman and her frightened children. “This is murder, Sephiroth. Madness! We were not sent to the north to kill innocent peasants.”

“They’ve harboured a fugitive of the king. They helped him escape.” Sephiroth replied, those terrible cat-like eyes narrowing to near sightless slits. 

“You left to find Angeal, now you return a madman? What has happened, Sephiroth? Where is the man I have known nearly my whole life?”

Sephiroth’s smirk was slow and subtle, but Genesis saw it nonetheless. It stilled his wildly beating heart and turned it to ice, the love he bore the man turning heavy with pain as Sephiroth flicked his wrist, his sword dancing up into the dark night, slicing through the falling snow flakes.

Masamune met Genesis’ weapon with a clash of steel.

“He is dead.” Sephiroth answered, the words holding much more meaning as the image of Angeal flashed in Genesis’ mind.

The rain of blows came so quickly, Genesis barely had time to parry them as he stumbled backwards. Sephiroth’s cuts came fast and strong, pushing him back and back as Genesis struggled to keep up, taking them out from the shadow of the barn and away from the cowering villagers. 

“Sephiroth, stop!” Genesis cried when he was able to catch his breath, the volley of blows ceasing for a moment as the general heaved in great pants of billowing white air.

“You are not yourself. Look!” Genesis cried, throwing his arms out wide, gesturing to the burning village all around them. The screams of the dying people inside the homes had quietened down a while ago, and all that filled the night was the hollow crackle of burning timbre. “Look at this destruction. The general I know would never have allowed this to come to pass.” 

“The general you knew was weak.” Sephiroth replied, top lip curling with the word, fists clenching around the hilt of his sword as he brought his elbow up, holding the weapon out in a battle-ready stance. “Weak with the frailty and the sins of mortal men. I am the cure.”

Sephiroth attacked again, swinging his long sword in sharp, elegant circles that sliced the frozen air, the ring of steel meeting steel echoing up into the night, followed by a loud, pained cry as Genesis fell, his body hitting the loose powdered snow in a spatter of blood, Masamune embedded in his shoulder, pinning him to the frozen earth. 

Genesis had lost his own sword somewhere in the snow, and he stared up at his crazed lover, eyes wide and disbelieving.

“Seph, stop!” he implored, voice powerless and bereft. Filled with pain. “It’s me.”

A flicker of recognition seemed to freeze the general’s body, his eyes going wide for the briefest of seconds as he stared down at the captain, his pupils becoming round and the green haze of his iris’ died away. Sephiroth seemed to shake himself, whatever trance had stolen his concentration now passed and his pupils elongated again, his mouth curling downwards in a malevolent snarl. He withdrew his blade, making Genesis grunt with pain and curl up into his injured side. 

“You are relieved of your duty, captain.” He said, though the words seemed forced, as if he uttered them with difficulty, and he turned away, sheathing his sword as he disappeared into the burning night. 

Genesis lay stunned and in agony, pressing his palm to the reopened wound through his shoulder and he stared blankly out into the dark shadows where Sephiroth had dissolved. The world had been turned on its axes, the white of the snow cutting the night vertically as he lay on his uninjured shoulder, the snow flakes falling sideways. 

How had this happened? How had Sephiroth allowed it to happen?

The loss of one of his lovers had been hard enough to bare, yet Sephiroth’s madness had cost him two.

The snow shifted around him and suddenly someone was kneeling beside him, a shaking hand on his arm as it pulled him onto his back and then he was staring up into the desolate sky, the outline of a woman’s face obscuring the dark, billowing snow clouds.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her face drawn and pale. Genesis looked at her, as though not really seeing her, and tried to answer. “You have to move. You can’t stay here, you’ll freeze to death.”

The thought was not an unpleasant one. 

“Please, you have to move. Get up, help me.” The woman insisted, tugging at his arm and shoving his shoulder, jostling the wound and making Genesis hiss in pain. 

The sting was enough to awaken him from his daze, and Genesis groaned in agony, slowly rolling over and sitting himself up with her help. 

“Thank you,” the woman said breathlessly as she helped him. “For saving me.”

“It wasn’t for you.” Genesis mumbled disjointedly, distracted by the way the snow flakes fell in lazy swirls. 

“Ain’t no matter any which way,” the woman’s common drawl cut through the haze and pulled him back. “You can’t stay here. You can come with us or make your own way. I don’t mind which. But I would be glad of your help.” 

Genesis stared at her so long, the woman began to shift uncomfortably. “Where are you headed?” he eventually asked.

“Over the mountains; into Balamb. Ain’t nothing for us here now.” The woman added, looking back over her shoulder at the still blazing building, now gutted to nothing but a fragile shell of smouldering, crackling embers.

Genesis had to concede her point. There was no way he could go back to the Second; to Sephiroth. Whatever remained of him was foreign and evil. He had defied his general and by proxy, his king. He was as good as banished. Why Sephiroth had not killed him he still could not say, though there was little time to ponder on the thought. 

“I will accompany you,” Genesis nodded “If you’ll help me stand.”

The woman stretched out her hand and hauled the captain to his feet, ducking around him to pluck his sword out of the snow a few paces away.

“You’ll need this where we’re going,” she said, handing it to him with a grim frown. “Name’s Tifa.” she told him, holding out her hand for him. 

Genesis took hold of it and shook it weakly. 

“You know a way into Balamb?” he asked, sceptical. 

“I do,” Tifa nodded, signalling to a large rotund man and a gaggle of children. They came scurrying out from the shadows and raced across open ground towards them, the smallest of the children carried in the big man’s arms. 

“And what do you intend to do once you get there?” Genesis asked, raising a brow at the sight of so many helpless infants. 

“Find Cloud.” Tifa replied, taking the heavy back pack from one of the young boys and slung it across her back, eyes sharp and determined as she levelled Genesis with them. “He owes me a favour or two.” 

*******

Cloud awoke to the warm sounds of a crackling fire and soft bird song. The bed was empty. He lifted his head from the furs and looked around through hazy, sleep misted eyes and was caught in subtle confusion. For the briefest of moments he couldn’t recall where he was, still caught up in the foggy fingers of sleep, when the quite chattering of mumbled voices carried to him through the small window above his head. Pushing back the tangle of hair out of his eyes, Cloud rolled over and stretched out his hand into the empty space beside him. 

“Squall?” He croaked, sitting up onto his elbows. 

'I’m outside.' Came the soft reply in his mind. It cut through the last tendrils of sleepy confusion and cleared his mind, bringing Cloud fully awake and aware or everything around him, the memories of the night before flipping through his inner eye like the pages of book. 

He had slept with Squall…

Unbidden, a low burning disquiet flowered in his belly, and in the bright light of the morning, not everything about their encounter felt as good as it had the night before. Guilt began to gnaw its way back into Cloud’s heart. 

'Is everything alright?' Squall asked, sensing the unsettling feelings.

'I… don’t…. Yes, I’m fine.' Cloud replied, knowing the lie would be easy for Squall to see through. 

'You’re regretting what we did?' The question was so unsure.

'No! Not regretting. I just…' Cloud couldn’t articulate it. But it wasn’t so easy for him to forget the lessons that Midgar had taught him. Despite his new found feelings for his Gaian he couldn’t shake the omnipresent sensation of sin, and his mind warred with his feelings. The closeness and the intimacy of the night time had made it easy to forget. Squall had made it easy to forget. 

Cloud looked across at the spot where Squall had slept, the indentation of his body in the soft furs still tangible, and Cloud recalled the gentle touches and shuddered with pleasure. 

He stood and quickly dressed himself, splashing cold water on his face as he shook the conflicting feelings from his mind. 

'I’m being foolish. Ignore me.' He said, knowing his feelings and thoughts were confusing Squall. He stepped out into the bright light and soft heat of the morning, and followed his Curssu, finding Squall amongst a small group of villagers gathered around a cook-fire, talking animatedly. Squall’s eyes found him through the crowd and watched him approach with a strange expression. 

“So, tell us more about Midgar, Squall,” Quistis said, breaking the Gaian’s stare, drawing his attention back to their conversation. 

Squall sat with his friends, the comfort and joy at seeing their faces again soothing some of his trepidation, though Cloud’s thoughts had him worrying as he watched his Guardian approach. Cloud’s face was a hard, unreadable mask, yet their bond allowed Squall to read him easily. He was torn. Pulled in two separate directions with no way to reconcile what he had been brought up to believe with what he wanted. But despite how much he understood, Squall couldn’t help feeling a little hurt by Cloud’s sudden reticence.

“I hear their food is awful!” Zell remarked, making a face as he stuffed a handful of flat-bread and lentils into his mouth. 

“Do you always think with your stomach?” Seifer teased, shoving Zell hard in the arm. The younger warrior scowled around his mouthful of food, glaring hard at Seifer. 

“They don’t recite the roasagh when they slaughter their livestock. The animal dies with its soul still trapped. It makes the meat taste foul.” Squall told them, trying to concentrate on their casual conversation. “But for the most part, the food was tolerable.” He offered Zell a small smile. 

“What about the babies!” Selphie said, suddenly alarmed, eyes wide as she balled her hand up in front of her mouth. “I heard the men eat their unwanted female children, particularly if they already have more than one. Is it true?” 

Her expression was so earnest and horrified, Squall couldn’t help but laugh.

“No Selphie, its not true.”

“See I told you,” Kairi said, nudging Selphie in the side. “Its just a tall tale Axel made up to scare you.”

“Cloud, we wondered where you were this morning,” Seifer suddenly exclaimed, turning all their attentions to the approaching man. The sea of faces suddenly turning to look at him had Cloud slowing in his tracks. “Come, sit with us.” Seifer patted the space beside him.

'They want you to join them.' Squall explained at Cloud’s blank look. Cloud eyed the space beside Seifer with trepidation, the large bear curled up on its side just behind the tall warrior giving him pause. Seifer followed his weary gaze and chuckled.

“Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you.” He said. “Not unless I ask him to.” He added with a wry smile. 

Squall translated, and Cloud huffed an uneasy laugh, quickly taking up the man’s offer and politely sat himself amongst the group, offering a small nod in greeting to all the gazes trained on him. 

'Are they always like this?' Cloud asked, throwing Squall a sideways glance. 

'Only when they’re being nosy.' Squall replied.

“Squall said you defied your king to bring him home. That you stole him and carried him all the way across the mountains. Is it true?” Selphie asked, those same wide eyes turned on Cloud as she put her empty bowl down, finished with her morning meal. 

Cloud waited patiently for Squall to translate, before he ducked his head, more than a little uncomfortable with the change in topic. 

“Its true. Though at the time I didn’t see any other choice.” He admitted, feeling their eyes on him as Squall relayed his words. 

“Then you really are a hero.” Quistis said, smiling gently at him. “Matron was right to take you to the Lifespring.” She offered him a bowl of food and he took it, cheeks burning.

“I don’t think everyone will share your opinion.” He replied, his tone a little sour. 

“You’re talking about Ellone, aren’t you.” Kairi said, the group falling silent as they tried not to look at Squall. Cloud sensed the awkwardness almost immediately. He nodded, occupying himself with eating. It wasn’t so easy for him to ignore Squall’s discomfort.

“You have to understand, Cloud, for many of us your people represent years of oppression and violence. Midgar has taken many of our loved ones, and it continues to try and invade our homeland.” Quistis began, her eyes gentle but her words strong. “When Squall was taken, we never had any hope that he would return. Gaian’s who disappear into Midgar never do. Ellone had every right to despair. And every right to hate the ones who took him.” 

'I don’t want to talk about this anymore.' Squall said once he’d finished translating. 'Change the subject.'

“I understand.” Cloud replied, catching Squall’s eye, the reply just as much for him as it was for Quistis.

“Guardians are sacred beings. Allowing you to become one will insult many. Though I suspect, when they get to know you, they won’t mind so much. You will have to give us just as much patience and time as we give you.” Quistis smiled warmly, and despite the sour mood rippling between their link, Cloud was comforted slightly. 

“Must we talk about this now?” Squall suddenly snapped, irritation obvious as he threw his bowl down. 

“I was only trying to put Cloud’s mind at ease.” Quistis replied.

“There’s no need,” Squall said curtly, fixing her with a stern stare, his sudden change in mood affecting the whole group as the dark shadows of Squall’s long imprisonment showed clearly on his face. His time in Midgar had changed him – in subtle and insidious ways – and that uncomfortable realisation rippled through the group with startling clarity. “His mind is my business.”

Cloud had lost the thread of their conversation the moment Squall had stopped translating, but he understood the hostile tension well enough.

'Squall, what’s wrong?' He probed, standing firm in the face of the scorching look Squall threw at him. 

'I told you to change the subject.' He snapped, suddenly done with the weighty stares of everyone looking at him. He stood abruptly and left, walking quickly across the village, losing himself easily in the crowd as he headed for the forest. Cloud stood and followed him.

'Squall, stop.' He ordered in his mind, the command going ignored as Cloud raced to catch up. 

Squall was well into the fringe of the surrounding trees by the time Cloud caught his arm, pulling him to an abrupt standstill.

“Why are you so angry?” Cloud asked aloud, reading Squall’s facial expressions with an inscrutable eye, the link between them buffeted by Squall’s displeasure.

“Because of you!” he replied, throwing Cloud’s hand off his arm. 

Cloud was startled to silence and Squall huffed in frustration, curling his fists at his sides as he took a moment to think. 

“You’re Guardian,” he began, his voice quieter though his tone was no less harsh. “There is nothing that anyone can do about that now. But if you have changed your mind about how you feel about me then-”

“Wait, stop,” Cloud interrupted, “Changed my mind? I haven’t-”

“I have lost my sister – my only blood kin – and once we are known I will lose the respect of my people,” Squall shot back, eyes hard as he impressed upon Cloud the seriousness of their conversation. “And all of it I’ll do for you. If you have any doubts about your feelings for me, then tell me now.”

Cloud swallowed hard and stared straight back.

“Once we are known?” The disjointed pieces of an incomplete picture started to put itself together in his mind. “Is there something you are not telling me, Squall?” he asked, clear warning in his tone. 

“Do you wish to be with me?” Squall said, eyes hard as he ignored Cloud’s insinuation. 

“Of course I do.” Cloud was not ashamed to say that he was hurt. After everything he had endured to bring Squall home: defying his king – his father – fleeing his home, loosing Zack, giving up his soul. How could he ask such a question?

“Then be with me!” Squall cried, the silence hanging between them was thick and brittle. “Or everything we have both sacrificed will be for nothing.” 

Cloud felt guilt creeping in again around the edges of his anger. The shame he had felt this morning at lying with Squall had been sharp and unexpected, and still Cloud struggled with his natural feelings and the voices of the priests of his childhood.

“Its not that easy,” he said, all anger and hostility drained from his voice. “I can’t just forget everything I’ve been brought up to believe.”

'You are more than what they made you into, Cloud…' Squall recalled the words he had spoken last night and floated them across their bond. “I promised you I would make you believe it.” He said, feeling as though everything they had done together, everything they were risking, hung on Cloud’s next words. 

Cloud shook his head, the weight of Squall’s expectations filling him with doubt. “You can’t fix what’s already broken.” He said. The moment the words left his lips he wanted to erase them. He felt hurt and betrayal so clearly through their bond but he couldn’t find the words to explain how he felt. How he wanted so much to give himself permission to be with Squall, but still that small, dark part of him would not allow it. 

“I need to be alone.” Squall said, clenching his jaw tightly as he looked away. “Don’t try to follow me.” He added, turning away. 

Cloud watched him go and felt Squall’s presence in his mind pull back. Thought not completely diminished, it was clear that he did not want to be touched, and Cloud pulled away too. With a heavy heart, he turned and walked back towards the village. 

*******

King Shinra’s chambers were dark and fire-lit, winter’s chill barely kept at bay by the small bank of flames snapping in the hearth, and the king himself sat haunched and frail, his breath wheezing in and out of his old, tired lungs in a wet rattle. Ansem eyed the man’s sagging profile and curled his lip in disgust.

“You called for me, sire?” 

Shinra did not look up. His watery gaze was fixed upon the flames, the sallow, taught skin of his cheeks pulled tight over sharp bone, cut with dancing orange light that made him appear transparent, the wrinkled skin of his bird-like neck thin and delicate like folded tissue paper; the furs of his cloak tickled his waxen lips as they pursed at the intrusion.

“I called for you over an hour ago.”

“My apologies, your majesty. I have been detained by important matters, I assure you.”Ansem’s reply was cordial, though his eyes remained hard and cold. Shinra huffed an unamused reply. 

“Conspiring against your king is exhausting work, no doubt.”

“Conspiring, your majesty?” Ansem could not help the small flutter of an upturned lip, the smile quickly hidden as Shinra turned to pierce him with a pointed stare.

“Yes conspiring, my lord.” He snapped, the words breaking off in his mouth like brittle twigs. “You think I’m a fool?”

Ansem wisely remained silent.

“You think I don’t know when my own armies are moved without my consent? My own general giving orders not directly from me? You are the fool, Ansem. A bold and impertinent fool.”

“Forgive me, your majesty, but I’m not quite certain I understand.” Ansem replied blithely, his amusement carefully hidden behind a neutral expression. 

“Horse shit!” Shinra spat, the curse chocked with rage and phlegm. Shinra’s bony hands tightened around the ornate arms of his chair, the wood creaking under his weight as he settled himself back down, anger simmering, his bloodless lips quivering. “You’ve emptied the city of the home guard and ordered Sephiroth to gather The Five in the north. Even now the Third marches along the King’s Road, leaving Corel defenceless. Have you lost your mind completely, or are your ambitions so great that you would risk the utter ruin of the kingdom you so desperately want to rule?” 

“The kingdom I so desperately want to rule?” Ansem did laugh then, the sound spilling from him in a short, sharp bark of mirth; the irony of Shinra’s words could no longer be contained as he watched the fragile king stiffen with rage. “You think it is your crown I covert? Your wasted, withered kingdom has been sucked dry. Whatever bounty was here has long since been depleted; you’ve left it hollow and starving. Your people are dying and you sit there and as if you are king of some great nation! You sit upon a throne of ashes, Shinra. You are king of nothing!” Ansem’s cheeks were spotted with red, his eyes dancing with the cold rage of Shinra’s ineptitude. 

“You are a bigger fool than even I had realised.” Shinra’s reply was low and cold, his eyes narrowing even further.

“Your idle threats mean nothing to me.” Ansem stepped forwards, further into the pool of light cast by the fire, and watched Shinra sit back in his chair. His stone cold face did not shift, yet the subtle flinch of his withered hands gave so much more away. “I have tolerated you thus far, because I had need of you. But your usefulness has come to its end. Now I will succeed where you have failed for so many years.” Ansem watched the minute shifting of the light in Shinra’s eyes as they widened, that slither of fear so bright in his insipid gaze that Ansem felt a warm, familiar pang of satisfaction crawl up his spine. It called to the darkness in him, and as easily as if he were drawing breath to speak, he gathered the shadows around him, the firelight dimming.

“You have played a dangerous game.” He said, watching the fear grow in Shinra’s eyes as the king shrank back, still so terrified of the power he longed to possess. “You sought out those with powerful magic and kept them close to you, shackled to your miserly rule while condemning us as unnatural. You’ve had the audacity to think you could control me – bend me to your uses – with no thought for consequence. Your arrogance has always been your weakness, Shinra, and now it will be your demise.” 

“You impertinent wretch. You think you can threaten me?! I am your king! I demand that you stop this, this heresy!” Shinra attempted to stand, his bony, withered frame barely out of its seat before Ansem raised a hand and manipulated the air around him, pushing the king back into the chair with a bone crunching force. Shinra cried out, his glassy eyes going wide and fearful, his mouth gaping open in shock as he sat pinned and helpless, the force against his chest crushing the air from his lungs. 

Ansem stood there for a moment, considering the king, caught between the chair and his magic and watched how he gasped like a landed fish, clawing at the smooth polished wood as he tried to gain traction and pull himself upright. “It’s amusing, isn’t it?” he began, pushing harder on the air around the king, forcing him further back into the chair and the wood began to creak under the pressure. “How a king can be reduced to nothing but a frightened child. Despite all your power – all of your land and gold – you are still just a man: fragile and weak.”

Shinra tried to reply, but could get nothing past his lips apart from chocking, broken breaths.

Ansem watched him a little longer, relishing in the sight of the king finally realising his end, before he narrowed his attention and pushed the darkness through Shinra’s chest, finding his erratically beating heart. It hammered wildly in his chest, already sinewy and stretched and weakened, so close to giving out on it’s own without the pressure of Ansem’s magic around it. But Ansem could not afford to wait for nature to take its course, and he seized the withered muscle and squeezed it. 

Shinra gave a terrified gasp, the force against his chest dissipating as the pain around his heart took hold, and he sagged in his chair as he brought a hand up to clutch at his arm, the pain radiating out through his back and sternum as he struggled to breathe. 

“I doubt your people will mourn you for long.” Ansem said casually, as he watched Shinra gasp, writhing weakly. “If any mourn you at all.”

Shinra’s terrified gaze met Ansem’s and the Barron smiled. He twisted the dark hand of magic inside the king’s chest tighter and watched Shinra jerk, no sound or cry of fear escaping his lips as he flailed weakly in his chair, one bony, withered hand stretched out before him as he tried to grasp at Ansem’s robes. His face drained of colour, a fine sheen of sweat standing out on his wrinkled brow, and he finally slumped against his chair, a small exhale of stale breath passing his lips as he sagged, his light-less eyes fading as the last of his life was drained from him and he went still. 

Ansem released the hold on his heart a few moments later, the feel of the cold and dead organ reassuring him that the king had indeed passed and with a satisfied sigh he drew the darkness back into himself. The fire grew bright and warm again, and the normal shadows crept back in. Turning on his heels, Ansem left the king’s chambers as quietly as he’d entered them.

*******

Not even the tranquillity of the waterfalls could soothe Squall’s troubled mind. Far too restless, the constant weight of Cloud’s presence on the periphery of his thoughts, Squall struggled to find the clarity he needed to think about his predicament. Not for the first time, he missed the ease and the simplicity of his connection to Griever and immediately felt guilt at the thought. Yet everything with Cloud was so hard. There was so much doubt and sacrifice; so much had changed in Squall that he felt adrift. Lost in a blizzard, uncertain of anything, even his own emotions which had become so inextricably linked to Cloud’s. 

The man had offered him freedom, yes; a second chance at life. It was a debt that Squall was uncertain he would ever be able to repay, though Cloud had never asked him to. He’d given up his soul so readily, yet was so reluctant to share the rest of himself. It made no sense. Yet Cloud’s feelings could not be denied, Squall felt them through their bond as surely as he sensed the world around him, but still Cloud held back. It was confusing almost to the point of insulting. 

Squall sat by the crashing waters and thought in silence for so long, he didn’t notice the waning of the light and the passing of day into dusk. The grumbling of his belly brought him out of his sullen mood with a sharp pang of hunger, and he felt the familiar presence of Cloud approaching. With a resigned sigh, Squall stood just as Cloud emerged from the tree line.

“I thought I told you not to follow me.” He said moodily.

“I didn’t. I came to find you. You’ve been gone all day.” Cloud answered coming to a stand still as Squall hopped down from the rocks. "Are you done sulking?”

“I told you, I don’t sulk.” Squall replied, frowning as he passed his Guardian, more than a little offended. He felt Cloud scoff in his mind and he turned sharply. “And so what if I am? You’ve given me enough to think about.”

Cloud’s shoulders sagged and he huffed an exasperated sigh. “I know, your thoughts have been all I can hear all day!” 

Indignant and offended, Squall clenched his fists and sent an uncharitable thought across to Cloud, the meaning clear despite the Gaian tongue.

Cloud smiled despite the tension. He couldn’t help it. Squall’s petulance was oddly endearing.

“What is so funny?” Squall demanded, eyes blazing with even more anger, his attempts at provoking Cloud into another argument falling flat as Cloud let Squall’s wounded pride wash over him. Eventually, Cloud’s mirth turned sad, and he looked at Squall with an odd sort of longing. 

“I know you’re hurt,” he began as he stepped closer “and confused. But… so am I.” Squall squared his shoulders, trying to hang onto his indignation just a little longer. “But you know how I feel about you. I couldn’t deny that even if I wanted to. I need time, Squall.” Cloud added gently, watching how his words softened the Gaian’s features, and despite their bond and wondrous ability to know every thought and feeling, Cloud still marvelled at how much they could misunderstand each other. “You cannot expect me to change overnight.” 'No matter how pleasant that night might have been,' Cloud added and smiled slightly, lifting a hand to brush away some of the errant bangs around Squall’s face.

The Gaian sighed, the hostility slowly fading as he struggled to hold on to his ire. He wanted to stay angry with Cloud, it gave his own fears so much more legitimacy, yet he knew he understood his Guardian. 'You doubt yourself constantly,' he finally groused. 'It’s infuriating.'

'You should try telling me something I’m not already aware of.' Cloud shot back, eyebrow raised as he felt the last of Squall’s latent anger melt away. There was still confusion, and doubt, and so much uncertainty between them, but the easy, affable company they shared soothed it all and Squall was only slightly alarmed at how willing he was to put aside their argument. 

'You’re fortunate I’m so fond of you.' Squall replied dryly, refusing to circle his arms around Cloud even as his Guardian embraced him. Damned if he’d be so easily manipulated into forgiveness. 

'I know how fortunate I am.' Cloud replied, pressing a kiss to Squall’s temple, the Gaian’s eyes sliding closed at the brief contact. Suddenly he was tired. “But that’s not why I’m here. Matron sent me to find you. The other tribes are arriving.”

Squall opened his eyes and stepped away from Cloud’s warm embrace. “Then we should head back. There will be a celebration tonight, all the village will be there. Tomorrow the council will begin.”

Cloud nodded, his face suddenly grim and determined. The arrival of the other tribes signalled the beginning of something tidal. Something that Cloud wasn’t certain Balamb could withstand. That apprehension grew uncomfortably heavy in his chest and he feared losing so much more than just his new sanctuary. If Midgar was allowed to invade, everything would be lost to its endless winter. 

He followed Squall back through the forest towards the village, the sounds of excitement and laughter growing louder as they approached, and as they broke out of the tree line and wandered into the centre of the village, they could see a great fire had been lit further up the valley. It glowed orange and red against the darkening sky and everybody flocked to it, drawn to its burning flames like moths. Around the fire stood great standing stones, and within the circle of granite and light, the whole village had gathered to celebrate. Great crowds swayed back and forth, milling and mixing with the newcomers as they passed around food and drink, cheers of laughter floating up into the night like the sparks from the great fire, and despite the ominous future the new tribes had brought with them, there was a great sense of joviality and levity amongst the people. 

“Squall, there you are. Matron has been looking for you.” Selphie cried as she spotted them through the crowd. She skipped to a halt and grasped Squall’s wrist, tugging on it as she led him across the stone circle, Cloud following close behind. “Rinoa arrived first. She wants to see you!”

“Rinoa?” Squall exclaimed, not bothering to hide the surprise in his voice. The young Matron was but a few years older then Squall and they had played together as children. She had been a close confidant of both Squall and Ellone’s – almost like a cousin – and had visited the Winhill tribe as often as her studies had allowed. She had always been marked as the next Matron of her own tribe. Ever since her birth and the obvious power she had been gifted, yet no one had expected her to come to her position quite so young; her father slain in battle defending the boarders from Midgar. She had a right to hate the Midgarians just as much as anyone. 

“Ward arrived not long after,” Selphie continued, chattering away excitedly. “He’s brought nearly two hundred with him. Two hundred, Squall!” 

Cloud felt the coil of apprehension in Squall’s belly tighten. They were not here to simply talk, Cloud realised. They had come prepared with men and women ready to fight. They had come expecting war. 

'Edea must have warned them…' Cloud thought idly as he followed Squall past the blazing heat of the fire. 

'Yes,' Squall replied, 'Or they have heard that a Midgarian is here in Balamb.' The thought froze Cloud’s insides.

'Do you think…' he couldn’t finish the thought, even in the safety of his own mind. 

'I don’t know. Just keep close to me, and let me do the talking.'

Cloud suppressed a scoff and chose not to remind Squall that he hardly had a choice in that department. 

Selphie pulled them to a stop and Cloud peered over Squall’s shoulder. Before them sat a loose ring of Gaian’s, their head’s bent in serious conversation and Edea looked up with a knowing eye. The young woman to her left followed suit, and her youthful face turned from stark to joyful as her gaze fell on Squall. The large man to Edea’s right remained silent and stern, obviously irritated at the intrusion. 

“Squall!” The young woman exclaimed, standing quickly. She rushed towards him and embraced him strongly, standing back to hold him at arms length as she looked up at him. “I was so heartbroken when they told me you’d been taken. I lost all hope. I’m so happy to see you’re alright.” The woman who must have been Rinoa beamed, his smile bright and warm as she looked up at Squall. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” Squall replied, a note of affection colouring his words as he placed his hands on her shoulders in reply, bringing their foreheads together in that strange way of greeting. Cloud felt a pang of jealousy and immediately pushed it to the side. 

“And who’s this?” she asked, looking over Squall’s shoulder, fixing Cloud with a speculative eye. Squall turned and followed her gaze.

“This is Cloud.” The apprehension in his face could not be masked and Cloud nodded subtly in greeting. 

“The one who brought you home?” Rinoa asked, eyebrow raised as she let her gaze travel up and down the length of him. Though used to being scrutinized by now, Cloud still felt irritated by her inspection. “He’s not what I expected.”

“And what was that?” Squall asked, throwing a glance at Cloud.

“Well, I was expecting someone a little taller...” the grin that broke across her face cut through the tension, and Squall huffed out a laugh. “He’s very handsome. For a Midgarian.” She added.

“You’re making him paranoid.” Squall informed her, pointedly ignoring Cloud’s requests to translate what she was saying.

“He makes a lot of people here nervous.” Rinoa’s tone became serious once again, her eyes flitting around the crowd of people, the subtle undertow of apprehension in the air unavoidable. 

“They’ve no need to be.” Squall replied, a little snippy. “He’s not like them, Rin. Once they see that, they’ll understand.” 

Rinoa didn’t respond, her features unreadable as she searched Squall’s eyes. 

'You know I hate it when you do that!' Cloud’s thoughts cut through Squall’s introspection. 'You’re talking about me.'

'Everyone is talking about you,' Squall shot back. 'Get used to it.' He felt Cloud bristle but he kept his tongue. 

“You disrespect this gathering by bringing him here.” Ward’s low and baritone voice caught everyone’s attention, and for a brief moment the noise of the crowd died down, replaced with a lower, muted chatter. 

“I disrespect no one,” Squall replied a few moments later, an obvious warning in his tone that impressed even Cloud. Ward was a large man, much larger that Squall. “Cloud has earned his place here.”

Ward sneered and spat against the ground. “Earned his place? His kind are poison. Perhaps he has poisoned your mind also?” the gathering had become deathly silent, Edea a poised figure of stone as she watched the exchange with a careful gaze. 

“You know nothing.” Squall’s retort was just a shade under disrespectful, and Cloud could see the large man stiffen at the insult. “The Lifestream accepted him; he passed through it unharmed. There is nothing wrong with his mind, or mine.” 

Ward’s brows shot up and his face became incredulous. Snapping his head to the side, he pierced Edea with a powerful glare. “You took him to the Lifespring? You let him pass through it?”

“It was the only way to save Squall’s life.” Edea retorted coolly. The whole crowd that had fallen silent now moving with a quite, hushed ripple of shock, listening intently to the argument. Cloud shifted uneasily, the feeling of hundreds of eyes upon him making him itch. 

Understanding pooled in Ward’s eyes and he glanced over at Cloud, his stare weighty, accusing and hostile. “You allowed him to become Guardian?” 

A ripple of horror and displeasure passed around the crowd. Those who were from Winhill already familiar with the knowledge, but no less disgusted, and those who had arrived with the gathering equally affronted. 

“The Lifestream judged him worthy.” Edea reminded them, raising her voice to allow it to carry across the sudden quiet. “We can ask no more than that. He saved Squall’s life twice over. Defied his people to bring him home. What more must he do to prove his worth to you all?”

“You have allowed a spy amongst us.” Ward said, standing to his full height. Quickly he strode across the short distance between them, his bare chest broad and dotted with blue markings and intricate ceremonial scars. His bare feet left soft indentations in the ground. 

“He’s no spy.” Squall growled, stepping in front of Cloud as Ward came to a stop before them. He felt Cloud’s hand on his wrist and gentle probing in his mind. 

'What is happening?' Cloud was alert with tension. 

'He distrusts you because you’re Midgarian. He thinks you’re a spy.'

'Well, have you tried telling him I’m not?' Cloud quipped, sizing the Gaian up, having to crane his neck up to reach his eye line. 

'The thought had not occurred to me.' Squall replied sarcastically. 

“How convenient then that you were able to return when no one before you has achieved such a feat. How convenient that this human was able to accompany you.” Something moved around Ward’s neck, and Cloud realised with an absent note of shock, that it was a snake; the Gaian’s Guardian cleverly concealed amongst the beads and trinkets laced around his shoulders. 

“You talk of what you cannot understand, Ward.” Edea warned as she stood up behind him. The air of tension had grown almost unbearable, and Cloud felt himself poised as if ready to fight, unknowing why or where the attack would come from. The hostility surrounded them, and it was impossible to tell where it would strike first. The snake around Ward’s neck bobbed and weaved, it’s head hovering just over his shoulder, tongue flickering in and out at the scent of danger on the air. 

“I understand enough.” Ward snarled, holding Cloud in place with his heavy stare. “I understand the sacrifice of my people. Hundreds of my kin dead because of your king!” Ward pointed a meaty finger, jabbing it past Squall’s shoulder and Cloud had to take a step back to avoid being poked in the eye. 

Squall reached up and pushed the arm away forcefully, the physical contact breaking the tension wide open as Ward’s eyes grew large and he reached his other hand up, bringing it back with lightning speed and struck Squall across the face. 

Cloud was too slow to react. He saw the look of shock and horror pass over Rinoa’s face, and he saw Edea move towards the large man, her hand raised in anger as she called for him to stop. And he felt the residual energy ripple around the crowd as they gasped and flinched at the violence, erupting into alarm as chaos quickly followed. 

As if in slow motion, Cloud saw the great bear of a man raise his hand again, the soft pulsing of magic gathering in the air around it, and Cloud recognised the subtle signature of an attack spell. Too slowly he turned his head to see Squall struggling to sit himself up on his elbows, dazed and disorientated from the hefty blow to his face. He would not see the danger aimed at him in time, and with a strangled cry cut off in the back of his throat, Cloud bolted forwards, throwing himself across Squall as Ward released the command and the snake around his shoulders disappeared lightning fast, coalescing into a sharp bolt of electricity that struck Cloud across the back of his shoulders.

The Guardian felt the force of it and then nothing else as the world around him suddenly went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for how long it's taken me to update this fic. No excuses. Hopefully I'm back on track now and we can all look forward to regular updates. Thanks for sticking with me.


	22. Chapter 22

Merlin took his place in the council chamber: a small, wooden seat in the corner of the room, away from the large oval table, it’s thirteen chairs already occupied – although Sephiroth, Angeal, and Genesis’ seats all remained notably absent. The council had been summoned in the early hours, the news of Shinra’s death spreading quickly through the castle pulled even the most diligent sleeper from their beds and through the buzz of excitement and animated chatter, Merlin felt a ripple of dread move through the air. The only members who were not moved to speak, were sat in chairs nearest to the king’s. 

Xigbar and Xemnas sat quietly in private, silent contemplation, while Xehanort watched the council with a faintly amused eye – the Barons were often men of few words, though Merlin felt their silence more troubling than usual. 

Shinra’s death troubled them all. Though, for different reasons entirely, Merlin was certain. 

A hush fell over the chamber as Ansem entered, his long brocade robe billowing behind him as he walked confidently towards the head of the table, passing his normal, customary chair until he stopped at the king’s poignantly empty seat. Merlin felt the council collectively hold its breath, eyebrows raised as Ansem levelled each of them with a confident stare, and sat down. 

“King Shinra’s body is barely cold and you already warm his seat, Ansem?” Hojo remarked, the priest’s ratty face pinched in displeasure. 

“Perhaps in usual circumstances court etiquette might be observed,” Ansem bit back, folding his hands languidly over his lap as he sat back into the chair. “But these are not usual circumstances.” He flexed his shoulders against the uncomfortable wood and briefly thought to remind himself to have the chair padded with cushions next time. Shinra had been a shrewd and miserly man, even extending to his own comforts. Ansem had designs to be a different kind of ruler entirely. 

“The death of a king is always exceptional, Ansem. Particularly one so prolific as Shinra.” Heidegger said, his large black beard bristling over his chest. Ansem cut him through with a sharp gaze. The fat old bloat had been a poor adviser and a simpering sycophant – when he had found time to pull himself away from the brothels long enough to attend court – a useless addition to a council that had never held it’s weight in politics for as long as Ansem had been a part of it. He never had understood the need for a council. A king should rule with impunity, and never have to answer to lesser men, the likes of which sat around this table. 

“My point exactly, my lord. Which is why this council has been summoned. The king is dead,” Ansem let the weight of his words settle a moment. “And war is upon us. We must first safeguard the rule of Shinra’s kingdom if we wish to expand upon it.”

“What are you suggesting, Ansem?” Domino asked, his soft voice carrying across the silence. “The prince was slain by the bastard. Shinra has left us no more heirs. The succession must be balloted and put to a vote.”

Ansem’s lip curled faintly at the suggestion of such…democracy. “There is no time for the wheels of peacetime politics to turn. Even now The Five waits on the northern boarders, ready to attack the Gaians. We cannot delay this war in order to find a new king. There must be no hint of weakness or the Gaians will use it to their advantage. We must act now.”

“The kingdom of Midgar has never been without a king.” Hojo said, his mousy eyes glaring short sightedly at Ansem. 

“I do not propose we leave it leaderless.” Ansem replied, leaning forwards. 

“And what would you propose, my lord?” Heidegger raised a brow and folded his hands over his ample belly. Ansem slid his gaze over the fat buffoon with barely concealed derision. 

“I propose the Barons take custody of the throne and keep it in stewardship until another king can be found.”

The noise that went up in the council chamber was to be expected, and Merlin sat back on his wooden stool, keen eyes trained on the council members as he watched them fall apart in uproar. Only Ansem, Xigbar, Xemnas, and Xehanort sat calmly, poised and confident as they too let the storm of anger wash over them until it calmed and died away.

“My lords, I understand this is unprecedented.” Ansem began, as diplomatically as he knew how. 

“Unprecedented? It is unthinkable.” Heidegger said, puffing up his chest as he slammed a hand down on he table. “The barons-” 

“Have the legal right of succession.” Ansem reminded him, his authority not to be underestimated. In the event of a king-less state, a Baron was as good as an heir and had every right to claim the throne for his own. “But we are not claiming succession.” Ansem reminded them, perhaps a sort of peace offering to calm their nervous minds. “We propose only stewardship, until a formal vote can be arranged.” 

“And when would you call this vote?” Hojo sneered “After all, as steward, only you retain the right to recognise an heir. How fortuitous it would be for you if you never recognised one at all?”

“I had not realised this council held so little faith in the Barons.” Xigbar finally spoke, his one good eye circling the men sat at the table with hawk like precision. “Have we not kept peace in Midgar? Have we not done all our king demanded of us?”

“And lined your own pockets with wealth and power.” Heidegger snapped, his face turning purple with rage. 

“I seem to recall you were not so prestigious in your own birthright before you came to this council, Heidegger.” Ansem reminded him. “Nor you, Domino. Or yourself, Hollander.” He added, placing his gaze on each of the lords in turn. “All of you have been risen above your station. All of you have benefited from the king’s favour. Do not think to cow us with humility.”

The council was silent, chastised and humbled by Ansem’s reminder of their origins, and Merlin sat thinking, chewing on his lip as he watched the proceedings. To let Ansem become steward would be disastrous. The council were surely right in their fears: once Ansem gained the power of stewardship, he could not be forced to give it up. Only he would have the authority to recognise an heir. The document that sat rolled up in Merlin’s robes felt weightless. Its importance almost stripped away to nothing. It had been the last good thing Shinra had ever done on this earth, and now Cloud’s claim to the throne would be obliterated forever. The change in the law concerning bastards and inheritance had yet to be recognised. With Ansem as guardian of the throne, that would never happen. Yet, was there any other way? Who was left in Midgar to help? Only Merlin remained, alone and in a dangerous, precarious position. Should he oppose Ansem as the council did? He would be dead within a month. Ansem knew he had no allies here. And with The Five standing between him and Balamb, there was no way to get a massage to Cloud and Aerith in the north. He could only hope that the war would bring Cloud back to him, and hope that the piece of paper in his robes held the weight to bring Cloud to his proper place on Midgar’s throne. It was a terribly uncertain plan.

“My lords, if I may speak?” Merlin’s wispy voice sounded above the silence. The council turned to regard him as he stood from his perch in the corner of the chamber and stepped closer on doddering legs. 

“When this council needs advice from a wizard, it shall ask for it. Sit down old man!” Hojo sneered, clutching the talisman of Holy’s Light around his neck. 

“Hold your tongue, priest.” Ansem snapped, “Though not a council member, the wizard was close to the king. He was trusted. Let him speak.” He turned a respectful eye back on the wizard and nodded his head. “Continue.”

“My thanks, Lord Ansem.” Merlin inclined his head, though he did not believe the respect he found in Ansem’s gaze even for a moment. “I believe the king would approve of this stewardship. We all know his intentions for war with Balamb, and Midgar now stands in a precarious position. To back down, to appear weak in any way might insight the Gaians to attack while we are leaderless. Ansem is right: we cannot wait for an heir to be found. Not until Midgar is stable again and the threat from the north eradicated. By law one of the Barons could claim kingship of Midgar,” he acquiesced “but what if it were contested? We would be plunged into a civil war that could tear us apart. We cannot fight a war from within as well as the Gaians. I implore you, take the offer of stewardship gracefully. Let Ansem and the Barons see us through this war, and we shall find Midgar a new king when the battles are over.” Merlin’s heart beat painfully through every word, though his voice remained steady and pious as he spoke. 

“Wise words from a learned man.” Ansem said, watching the effect of Merlin’s advice ripple around the table with unease. 

“The wizard is right,” Domino said hesitantly. “We cannot afford a civil war. We must remain strong in the face of Balamb. There is no other way.”

“And it would only be stewardship.” Palmer added, his cheery optimistic tone out of place in the sombre atmosphere of the chamber. “The Barons would be obliged to find an heir as soon as was right.”

“I’m certain the Barons would only be too happy to relinquish power once the true and rightful heir has been found.” Merlin said, letting his eyes fall to Ansem with meaning.

“It would be our duty, and our honour.” Ansem replied, a small smile curling his lips. 

A few more moments of silence passed before Heidegger reluctantly spoke. “Very well. The guardianship of the throne falls to Ansem and the Barons, who will see us through this war and into a new age.”

“May Holy bless it.” Hojo added, the council nodding their heads in respect as he anointed the air in front of him.

Merlin let out a barely audible sigh and sat back down, his old bones creaking as much as the wooden bench. He could not be certain he had done the right thing and an ominous shadow still weighed heavily on his heart, yet he could not bring himself to give up all hope as he placed his hand over the parchment concealed within his robes and gave it a little pat. 

“Now, to the business of the king’s funeral.” Ansem began, sitting back in his chair. “I thought a small and private cremation. Nothing ceremonious. A funeral befitting the way in which he lived his life...”

Merlin let the lesser matters of court wash over his head as he sat and let his thoughts wander, all the way across the mountains, to where he hoped the future of Midgar and Balamb lay safely in hiding.

*******

Cloud awoke from a heavy sleep with a pounding in the back of his mind. Briefly he wondered when he’d had time to drink himself into such a state, before the taste of residual magic caught the back of his tongue and a flash of memory made his eyes fly open. He groaned and chocked on his parched throat, wincing at the bright light that assaulted his eyes, and he glared up at the shadow that had fallen over him. He felt a soft hand in his hair and then the mumbled sound of a voice cut through the cotton in his ears, the words pulling together slowly until they came into sharp relief. 

“...you hear me, Cloud?”

Cloud nodded, the motion making his head swim and he regretted it instantly. It took a few more moments before he was able to open his eyes again. When he did, he saw Aerith’s gentle face staring down at him, her eyes filled with concern and her brows knit together with worry. 

“’m alright.” He mumbled, not too certain that he was. 

“Can you sit up?” Aerith asked him, placing a hand at the back of his head to help him along. It was far more difficult than it should have been, but eventually, Cloud managed to manoeuvre himself into a half slouch against the wall. 

“Where am I?” he winced, pressing a hand against his head to try and alleviate the pounding in his temples. 

“Still in Winhill, on the outskirts of the village.” 

Cloud looked around himself and recognised Aerith’s hut. “What happened?”

“I don’t know what you did, but it caused one awful commotion. The whole village has been in turmoil for the last two days.” Aerith replied, ringing out a cold cloth and pressed it to his forehead. The relief was instantaneous. 

“Two days?” Cloud frowned in confusion. 

“You’ve been unconscious for a while.” Aerith informed him solemnly. “The thundara magic caught you in your human form – at least, that’s what Squall said. I didn’t have the heart to ask him what he meant by that. He said it wouldn’t have been nearly so bad if you’d been your true Guardian self.”

Cloud looked at her with a troubled gaze and was about to open his mouth to explain.

“Ah… I’ve decided, I really don’t want to know.” Aerith held up a hand to stop him, shaking her head with a rueful smile. “At this point I figured I should just accept things as they are.” She added. 

“Where’s Squall?” Cloud settled for asking instead. 

'I’m with the elders. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.' The instant reply came through his woolly thoughts. 

“He’s been preoccupied with Edea for the most part. But he left at first light this morning.” Aerith answered anyway. “Something big is happening, Cloud.” She continued, her voice strained with worry. “The Gaian’s won’t let us leave. They’ve placed a guard at the door and there have been large gatherings every day. No one will tell me what’s going on, not even Squall or Edea.”

'I’m on my way,' Squall spoke, his voice stern and official, 'I have a lot to tell you.'

“I think we’re about to find out.” Cloud grumbled, sitting himself up a little further and he threw the cloth down, accepting a drink greedily as they waited.

Squall came through the door a while later, face grave and pinched as his gaze settled on the two figures across the floor. He moved quickly, kneeling down beside Cloud and placed his hands on either side of his face, bringing their foreheads together softly before he lifted his chin and placed a soft, chaste kiss between Cloud’s brows. It was oddly touching and far more intimate than Cloud was comfortable with in front of Aerith, his cheeks burning as he felt her gaze on them, but he did not pull back. 

“I’m alright.” He said quietly, feeling Squall’s concern through their bond. “Tell me what’s been happening.”

Squall pulled away and sighed, his calculating, assessing gaze travelling Cloud’s face and body as if judging for himself if Cloud’s words were true before he satisfied himself and sat back on his heels. “Things have become far more complicated.” He began, his mouth pinched into a thin line. “Ward and the Gaians of Galbadia are incensed by the notion of a human Guardian. They’re insisting that Edea has broken the sanctity of Dha Ferelsa.”

“The Balance? What’s that?” Aerith asked, worry clear in her bright eyes. 

“It is the harmony that flows through the Lifestream that governs Gaian life. It dictates everything; from the trees and flowers, to the mountains and animals. It is what we were created to protect. To ensure it was never tainted or the balance upset. By letting a human become Guardian, Ward claims that the balance has been poisoned and it will begin to infect the world around us. But there is something else, something much more urgent.” Squall said, shaking his head.

“More urgent than poisoning the planet?” Aerith replied, perhaps a little too dryly. 

“He believes stronger than anything that you are here as a Midgarian spy. He thinks that you – both of you – have been sent to weaken the Gaian people from the inside, gaining our trust by become one of us, only to lead us into a war that we will never be able to win.” Squall fixed Cloud with a heavy gaze, worry so clear and prominent in his mind it frightened Cloud. “He means to call a Sroaul.”

“What’s a-”

“A trial.” Cloud answered Aerith, not needing the translation to understand the look in Squall’s eyes. “He wants to put us on trial.”

Squall nodded slowly. “I tried to reason with him, but he believes my mind has been tainted by joining with you.”

“But… what about Edea?” Aerith asked, his voice tight with apprehension. Squall shook his head, breaking eye contact with Cloud to look at her with sympathy. 

“She has done all she can. As Pater of Galbadia, Ward holds authority over his people in the same way Edea does here in Winhill. She must been seen to honour his concerns or lose the respect of everyone. She must humour him if she hopes to keep him as an ally.” 

“And Rinoa, and the leaders of the other tribes, what do they say?” Aerith pressed.

“Rinoa pushes for diplomacy. She has a natural distrust of Midgar and has her concerns about you being Guardian,” Squall said, turning back to look at Cloud, “But Kiros and Xu have both voted for the Sroaul. Along with Ward, that brings three tribes against two.” Squall finished. “It has already been decided.”

Cloud sighed heavily and sat forward, draping his arms across his knees as he stared at his feet and ignored the fading headache in the back of his skull – thankfully lessened by Squall’s soothing presence. “I’m assuming the likelihood of us being found innocent are fairly slim?” he asked, voice low and far from hopeful. 

“There would be people who would speak for you: myself, Edea, some others that have agreed to give testimony. But the decision ultimately rests with the Matrons and Paters of the Gaian tribes. If you cannot get all five of them to agree unanimously...” Squall let the sentence trail away. 

“What will happen to us if we’re found guilty?” Cloud asked, pushing the question. He didn’t like that Squall was refusing to answer his questions even in his mind. 

“You will be executed.” He eventually answered, the words small and fragile in the silence that hung in the air. 

Aerith let out a stilted gasp and collapsed back against the wall, her mouth hanging open in muted horror as her eyes shimmered with water. “But… they can’t… what about Cloud, he’s your Guardian. If they kill him then...”

Squall swallowed thickly. “Then I will perish too.” He agreed, nodding his head slowly. 

The half laugh, half gasp that Aerith let out was anything but amused and as Squall’s eyes slid back to Cloud’s he caught the look in his gaze that was reflected in the powerful thought in his mind.

'I will not let that happen to you.' It was so forceful it was almost painful, and Squall’s jaw clenched.

'You won’t have a choice. If you stay here-'

“No.” Cloud said aloud, shaking his head, his gaze firm as he stared at Squall. “We’re not running, not again.”

Aerith looked up at them both, suddenly alarmed. “What?” she asked, bewildered. “What are you two saying?”

'Cloud, there is no other way. If you stay here they will find you guilty. Edea will not be able to save us again.' Squall implored, the look in his eyes turning helpless.

'And if we run, what then? Midgar will still attack. Your people will still be in danger, and we will always be running. From them… from Midgar… it doesn’t matter.' Cloud replied.

'I won’t watch them kill you.' The pain in Squall’s voice was almost unbearable.

'If we run we die anyway. But not before your people. We have to stay and fight!'

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” Squall bit out, his voice trembling and shaking with anger.

“Oh for Holy’s sake will you two just tell me what you’re taking about!” Aerith cried, slamming her balled up fists against the hard packed earth. “This is my life we’re talking about too, I have a right to be part of the decision.” 

All three were quite for a moment, Cloud and Squall suitably chastised as they stared at the ground and tried not to send each other thoughts.

“Squall thinks we should run. He wants to help us escape before the trial.” Cloud finally said as evenly as he could.

“And go where? Back to Midgar?” Aerith scoffed. “You’ve already seen to it that can never happen.” Aerith said bitterly.

“No, further north. Away from Winhill and-”

“And go where?” Cloud interrupted Squall. “Just keep going until there are no more Gaians? Further north until there is no more north? We would be running for the rest of our lives. Or until Midgar finally caught up with us once they’ve finished killing your people and destroying your lands. Running is pointless.” Cloud was angry, incensed by the unfairness of everything and the looming threat of death once again. Hadn’t they been through enough? Hadn’t they already fought so hard for their right to exist? “It will only delay the inevitable.”

They were all quiet once again and this time it was Aerith who broke the silence. “I agree with Cloud. Though I can’t quite believe I’m saying it.” She added, dryly. “I’m tired of running.” 

Cloud was pleased to have her support, but wisely chose not to say it. He didn’t have to. Squall stood abruptly, heading for the entrance. 

“Squall, wait.” Cloud said, standing quickly. Still stiff and sore, he stumbled, catching Squall around the wrist awkwardly. He pulled his Gaian around to face him, wobbling slightly on his trembling legs as Squall surprised him and wrapped him in his arms tightly, pressing his face into Cloud’s neck. Instinctively, Cloud held him back just as fiercely.

'I can’t go through that again…' Squall whispered in his mind, echoes of the terrible Longing he had suffered after Griever’s death floating through the bond between them. 'I cannot lose you that way too.'

'I won’t let you suffer that.' Cloud promised, ashamed to admit that he hadn’t considered the painful point. Though what could he do to prevent it? He thought briefly of imploring Ward to end Squall’s life first, sparing him the pain of their separation, though it was a fleeting thought and not meant as a serious consideration, but still it had Squall shaking in his arms, his legs going weak under him.

'Please, don’t think those things.' Squall begged him. 

The moment was sobering, and Cloud was quickly realising the enormity of their bond; the responsibility he now held to Squall as his Guardian. If Cloud perished, so would Squall. He could make no decision that his Gaian was also not happy to consent to – chose no path that Squall was not willing to walk along with him. They both had to agree to this, or Cloud would be condemning Squall to a fate not of his making.

'I know you are afraid,' Cloud began, the words soft and tender as he pressed his lips to Squall’s temple, 'Afraid to lose another Guardian the way you lost Griever-'

'I’m afraid to lose you!' Squall said fiercely, 'Even if you were not my Guardian, I would still be afraid. I would still ask you to run.'

'But you know why we can’t.' Cloud replied, begging Squall to understand. Reluctantly, Squall sighed, the fight draining out of him as he sagged against Cloud. 'We must find a way to prove we are innocent.' He added, waiting for Squall to acknowledge his words.

His Gaian took himself under his own weight again and lifted his head, his nose just brushing Cloud’s as he looked at him with large, sad eyes. 'Alright,' he agreed, despite how much Cloud sensed his reluctance. 'Though I don’t know how we can prove it.'

'How long do we have?' Cloud asked, tracing a thumb across Squall’s cheek.

'The Sroaul will begin tomorrow at noon.' Squall replied.

'That doesn’t leave us much time. Go to Edea and tell her what we’ve decided. See if she can do anything to postpone the trial, or knows of anyone that can help us.' Cloud implored, bringing his lips to Squall’s, pressing a kiss there, this time not caring that Aerith was watching.

'Alright. I’ll be back as soon as I can.'

Squall left quickly, and Cloud stumbled back to his pallet, collapsing heavily against the furs and sat next to Aerith.

“You know it’s completely infuriating when you two hold private conversations in your head. Not to mention rude.” She grumbled, folding her arms across her chest.

“Trust me, you don’t want to hear what we have to say to each other.” Cloud replied in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Oh please,” Aerith rolled her eyes. “If I know either of you, half of it will be brooding and the other half will be sulking.”

Cloud let a small huff of amusement slip through his lips despite himself. “That’s not true,” he said raising a brow as he threw her a sideways glance. “He doesn’t sulk.” 

*******

Squall strode quickly through the village and further on up the valley to dha redhasailr fresa – the gathering place – where the other four tribes were currently encamped. The large standing stones towered into the sky and around the sacred circle, small tents and settlements had sprung up; the centre of the circle had become an important hub of elders and official meetings, and Edea sat amongst the crowd, fulfilling her duty as Matron, keeping the visiting tribes entertained and placid. Several Gaians stood respectfully to the side, waiting their turn to speak with the elders, and Squall’s heart sank to see Ellone in conversation with them. Whatever advise his sister was giving them, if it concerned him and Cloud, then it could not be good. 

He hung back and waited, watching as Ellone finished and stood, bowing respectfully to the elders as she backed away and began to walk back to the village. Squall could not hide the fact that he was waiting, and she saw him, her eyes narrowing a fraction before she seemed to reconsider her path and wandered over to him. 

“Come to beg for the life of your human?” She asked, coming to a standstill with her arms folded in front of her. 

“The Sroaul has been decided. My begging won’t change that.” Squall replied as levelly as he could. 

Ellone huffed, “If the Sroaul has any sense, they’ll find you all guilty.” 

Squall fixed her with a deadly glare, a flicker of hurt shining behind it as he stared at his once loved sister. “If Cloud and Aerith are found guilty, then I will die too. Is that what you honestly want?”

The second of hesitation and uncertainty in Ellone’s eyes was hardly satisfying, yet it twisted Squall’s heart painfully. 

“You’re a traitor to your people, Squall. The Sroaul will judge them, not I.” She eventually said, her words losing their sting as she looked away as if ashamed. 

“Then you will all be happier, no doubt.” Squall replied, bitter and hurt.

“Happy?” Ellone scoffed, this time fixing Squall with a pained expression that cut through all of Squall’s unpleasant thoughts. “I haven’t been happy since you disappeared. And now I wonder if I’’ll ever be happy again.”

Squall scowled heavily at the ground, confused and affronted by Ellone’s self pity. “Well, that’s up to you to decide.” What excuse did she have to be unhappy? “I would hate for my death to spoil your life in any way.”

Ellone gripped his arm, his fingers digging into his skin as she curled her lips in reply. “I’ve already mourned you once. I’ll not do it again.” 

Squall tugged his arm free and pushed past her, biting his tongue against the terrible words that wanted to come spilling out. Instead he approached Edea, clearing his throat to gain her attention as she pulled away from her conversation with Ward. “Edea, I need to speak with you.” He said, eyes glancing to the large man at her side. “Alone.” He added.

Edea excused herself and stood, walking a little ways outside the stone circle with Squall until they were far enough away into the trees not to be heard. 

“What was his answer?” Edea asked as soon as they were alone. 

“He won’t run.” Squall shook his head, throat suddenly tight with emotion as water prickled the backs of his eyes. “I begged him but he wouldn’t. Aerith is in agreement with him, too. It’s no use, The Sroaul will continue as planned.” 

Edea’s face turned dark with disappointment, but she did not look helpless. “I thought as much. The Lifestream would not have granted him a Guardian’s soul of he were not brave enough to bare it.”

“Edea, I won’t watch him die.” Squall’s voice was strong despite the tight knot of fear in his throat. 

“Peace, Squall. It may not yet come to that.” Edea replied, placing her hand against his cheek.

“What do you mean?” A small sliver of hope made Squall’s voice crack. 

“There may be a Gaian who can help us. Though, it may take some persuading. She is not currently predisposed to Midgarians.”

“Who?” Squall asked, his brows furrowing in confusion. 

“Your sister.” Edea watched as Squall’s face fell.

“Ellone?” he took a step back, out of Edea’s reach and would have laughed had the situation been even remotely amusing. “She’s as likely to condemn us than she is to help us. She hates Cloud. She’ll never help him.”

“Not knowingly.” Edea agreed signalling for Squall to keep his voice low. “But she has gained powers far beyond any of us gathered here. She does not know it, but she may hold the key to proving Cloud’s innocence. All you must do is trust me.” She beseeched him, pleading with him through her eyes to remain calm and strong. To trust in her as he had done when he was a boy.

“Powers?” Squall asked, once again confused. “What are you talking about?”

Edea breathed out even through her nose and pursed her lips, her eyes flickering with so much knowledge, Squall felt fleeting anger at her for keeping so much of it secret, before he reminded himself that this was Matron – his mother – there had never been a time when she had let him down or led him astray. Not even those long and dark months in Avalanche could expunge those memories. 

“There are things that will happen that we cannot explain or control. You must have faith that the Lifestream works for our greater good, Squall. That is all I can tell you now.” Her words were gentle yet brutal. “Go, be with Cloud, and try not to waste what time you have left. If what I hope does not come to pass, this is all the time you will ever have.” She told him, trying to soften the truth of her words with a kind smile. It didn’t comfort Squall. He left with a tight knot of pain and fear in his heart, it’s weight suffocating him as he breathed hard and walked quickly back towards the village. 

*******

'I still don’t understand how Ellone can help us.' Cloud spoke softly, the echo of his voice in Squall’s mind a soothing balm. He had no need to whisper, their thoughts could not be heard and Aerith had fallen asleep some time ago on her pallet across the room. But it was comforting and oddly reassuring to have Cloud’s gentle voice ghosting across his mind.

'Neither do I. But Edea was hopeful.'

'I wish she would be a little more specific.' Cloud was rueful, shifting his shoulders a little to release the tension. His back was pressed up against the mud daubed wall, Squall’s head resting on his chest as they lay quietly together, the Gaian’s arm slung loosely around his middle as fingers traced idle patters over his belly. 

'I don’t think she can be. I’m not even certain she know whats going to happen, or if Ellone will even be able to help us – let alone willing…' a brief, familiar spike of panic and hopelessness washed through Squall at that moment and his throat closed over with the weight of it. 'Will you not reconsider… if the Sroaul finds you guilty, you’ll have a chance to run before they execute you.'

'I… I don’t know, Squall. There would be no where to run to.' Cloud could feel the spark of hope ignite in Squall’s heart, but didn’t have the strength to quash it. He couldn’t do that, not to his lover. 

'Just… promise me you’ll think about it.' Squall said, squeezing him a little tighter as he pressed his cheek against Cloud’s chest. 

'Alright.' Cloud agreed.

'I’ll know if you don’t.' Squall was able to tease, lifting his head to tap a finger against Cloud’s temple with a small, amused smile. 

'And what will happen to you if I do?' Cloud admonished gently, capturing Squall’s hand in his own, his eyes soft as they traced the lines of Squall’s face.

'I’ll go with you,' he replied curling his fingers together with Cloud’s, running the pad of his thumb against Cloud’s palm. 'There could be no place for me here without you.'

It seemed to Cloud that even beside him, there was no place for Squall in his own village, though he did not quite know how to give voice to that concept. Squall understood his feelings well enough. He frowned and sat up, untangling himself from their comfortable hold. 

'I’ve told you, I do not resent you for binding yourself to me; I resent them!'

Cloud sat himself up and placed a hand on Squall’s shoulder. 'You shouldn’t.' He admonished, thinking of all the unhappy days he’d spent at Avalanche, hating and resenting the people that had looked down on him. 'It won’t bring you any peace. Besides, they’re your people, Squall. This is where you belong. This is where you belonged long before you met me.' He felt Squall’s shoulders drop, all that tension and anger leaving him just as quickly as it came. 

'Too much has happened since then. My life can never be the same as it was before I met you.' It was a point that Cloud could not argue with. In truth, he didn’t want to spend the night arguing at all. Not if it was to be their last… he quickly dispelled that thought and hoped that Squall would ignore it too. Instead, he pulled against Squall’s shoulder, coaxing him to lie down again, and once he was settled into the soft furs Cloud balanced himself on his elbow and stared down at him.

'If the Sroaul finds us guilty, I promise we’ll run.' He said, feeling the relief and the fear come tumbling off Squall in equal measure. 'I don’t know where to, but I vowed to protect you.' With his decision, Cloud felt the warring in his heart come to a fragile kind of peace; still terrified and overwhelmed by an uncertain future, but bolstered by a purpose far greater than any he had felt before. 

'We’re supposed to protect each other.' Squall reminded him reaching up to cup Cloud’s face. Cloud turned into it and kissed his palm. The touch sent a pleasant tingle through Squall’s arm and down his spine, and in a moment, his fluttering heart was beating wildly for a different reason. He sat up on his own elbow and ducked his head, pulling Cloud’s face round to place a kiss against his lips. The affection soon turned heated, a small groan slipping from Squall as he tangled his hand into the strands of hair at the nape of Cloud’s neck, and he shifted closer, pressing himself against Cloud, using his weight to coax him down into the furs.

With a heavy exhale of heated breath, Cloud pulled away, shaking his head slightly as his eyes glanced over at Aerith sleeping. 'Not here,' He said, cheeks already pink. Squall followed his gaze and bit his lip. He had forgotten they had company. Slowly, an idea began to form in his mind, and smirking quietly to himself he turned back to Cloud.

'Perhaps… there is another way we can be together… more discreetly.' He suggested, letting the idea float across to Cloud. He watched his lover’s face turn burning red and couldn’t help the small snicker of amusement. 'Are all humans as prudish as you are?'

'I… I’m not…'

Squall snorted at the attempt at denial and kissed him again anyway. Carefully, slowly, he pressed Cloud into the furs and lay down beside him. They faced each other, barely inches between their noses as Squall ran his fingers down Cloud’s cheek, brushing away some of the bangs around his face. 'Close your eyes and open your mind.' He said, watching as Cloud did as instructed, before he closed his own eyes and lightly touched their foreheads together. 

Immediately Squall sensed Cloud’s hesitation and awkward embarrassment. Yet underneath it lay a powerful, simmering passion. With a small nudge of his mind, Squall opened it up, and sent an image of him caressing Cloud’s body with his hands; fingers ghosting the lines of his hips, the feeling of his skin beneath his hands becoming real as he focused and felt Cloud shudder. 

'How… how are you doing that?' He heard Cloud whisper. 'It’s as though I can feel you touching me.'

Squall smirked, the image so clear in Cloud’s mind that he swallowed hard and watched as Squall’s hand drifted lower, running up the inside line of his leg before he stopped at his crotch. His outward body was leaden, as if weighted by something, yet in his mind he moved his hand to cover Squall’s as he pressed it against his hardness, a short gasp slipping from Cloud’s lips. 

Squall moved closer, shifting his hips until he was aligned with Cloud and he began to untie the laces of his leggings, pressing small kisses to his panting mouth. Easily he slipped his hand inside, touching Cloud’s aching need with a firm stroke that sent a violent tremor through him, his bliss echoing within Squall, making him moan into Cloud’s mouth.

Slowly and firmly, Squall pleasured Cloud, letting the images become hazy with lust, the sharpness of his mind losing its edge as everything turned foggy – the intensity of their shared intimacy building despite the loss of focus. 

It was almost effortless, the way the images shifted in Cloud’s mind; the feelings and sensations enveloping his body as he felt Squall move, a weight settling over his body as Squall climbed on top of him and lay against him, rocking his hips against Cloud’s. He reached down and held on to Squall’s buttocks, clinging to him as he coaxed him into a faster rhythm, all the while his outward body lay still and unmoving, not a flinch or flicker as Squall sent the images through their link. He felt Squall reach between them, taking both of them into his hand and begin to stroke them, and he let a strangled moan escape.

Squall pressed his lips against Cloud’s, swallowing the sounds as he continued to move, soaking up the small tremors and shudders and let them push him towards his completion as he felt it begin to build in Cloud. Quickening his pace, Squall pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the column of Cloud’s throat, biting down lightly as he finally orgasmed and felt Cloud come moments later; their shared climax rippling across their bond, dissolving the images around them as they came awake once again. 

Cloud surfaced from the trance with a short gasp, as if wakening from a dream, his eyes flying open as he flinched back. Squall was staring at him, also slightly breathless as he swallowed past the ache in his throat from keeping his moans inside. 

'What was that?' Cloud asked, shifting slightly and wincing at the dampness in his trousers. 

'Part of our bond.' Squall replied, smiling faintly as he relaxed against the pallet, his eyes heavy lidded. 'We can share anything that we can imagine. So, I imagined us together.'

'But it was… it was so real!' Cloud was still breathing harshly, his gaze slipping to Aerith to check that she was still sound asleep. She had not moved, and Cloud was only slightly reassured. 

'Our minds are powerful things, Cloud. Now more than ever.' Squall replied, settling his hand back on Cloud’s cheek. They stared at each other for a moment.

'You mean to tell me we’ve had the ability to do that this whole time, and you’ve only just told me?'

Squall snorted, shifting an arm to pillow beneath his head as he closed his eyes. 'The thought only just occurred to me.' He replied idly, letting sleep creep closer. 

Cloud huffed a breathy laugh, half amused and half incredulous, and then settled himself down closer to Squall, letting the residual echoes of their experience roll around in his head. 'If we survive this,' he began, closing his eyes, 'we’re doing that again.'

'When we survive.' Squall corrected him, his voice faint and far away as he fell into sleep.


End file.
